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THE    ZME'UJMAI'D    SERIES 

EDITED  BY  HAVELOCK  ELLIS. 


THE  BEST  PLAYS  OF  THE  OLD  DRAMATISTS. 


JOHN   FORD. 


=55 


MJ  £  In  Half-Crown  Monthly  Volumes  uniform  with  the  present  Work. 

*3  THE    MERMAID    SERIES. 


,S£vs7'  PZJ  rs  OF  THE  OLD  DRAMATISTS. 


The  following  comprise  the  earlier  Volumes  of  the  Series : — 

MARLOWE.      Edited    by  HAVELOCK    ELLIS.      With   a   General 
Introduction  by  J.  A.  SYMONDS. 

MASSINGER.     Edited  by  ARTHUR  SYMONS. 
MIDDLETON.     With  an  Introduction  by  A.  C.  SWINBURNE. 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER  (2  vols.).     Edited  by  J.  ST.  LOE 
STRACHEY. 

CONGREVE.     Edited  by  ALEXANDER  C.  EWALD. 

DEKKER.     Edited  by  ERNEST  RHYS. 

SHIRLEY.     With  an  Introduction  by  EDMUND  GOSSE. 

NERO   AND   OTHER   PLAYS.     Edited  by  H.  P.   HORNE,  &c. 

WEBSTER  &  CYRIL  TOURNEUR.     Edited  by  J.  A.  SYMONDS. 

WYCHERLEY.     Edited  by  W.  C.  WARD. 

FORD.    Edited  by  HAVELOCK  ELLIS. 

BEN  JONSON  (3  vols.).      Edited  by  BRINSLEY  NICHOLSON  and 
C.  H.  HEKFOKD. 

OTWAY.     Edited  by  the  Hon.  RODEN  NOEL. 

THOMAS  HEYWOOD  (2  vols).     Edited  by  J.  A.  SYMONDS  and 
A.  W.  VERITY. 

SHADWELL.     Edited  by  GEORGE  SAINTSBURY. 

THE  PARSON'S  WEDDING  AND  OTHER  PLAYS.      ~dited 

by  W.  C.  WARD  and  A.  W.  VERITY. 

ARDEN     OF     FEVERSHAM,    and    other    Plays    attributed    to 
SHAKESPEARE.    Edited  by  ARTHUR  SYMONS. 

DRYDEN  (2  vols).     Edited  by  R.  GARNETT. 

CHAPMAN  (2  vols).     Edited  by  BRINSLEY  NICHOLSON  and  W.  G. 
STONE. 

ETHEREDGE  &  SEDLEY.     Edited  by  A    SYMO.VS. 


JOHN  FORD.  xv 

the  drowning  heart  below,  and  all  is  silence.  He 
is  rich  in  those  words  and  lines  of  sweet  and 
subtle  music— 

•'  Parthenophil  is  lost,  and  I  would  see  him  ; 
For  he  is  like  to  something  I  remember, 
A  ;;reat  while  since,  a  long,  long  time  ago." 

When  we  think  of  Ford  we  think  of  Giovanni 
and  Annabella,  passionate  children  who  had 
given  the  world  for  love  ;  of  the  childish  sophistry 
with  which  they  justified  themselves,  and  of  their 
last  marvellous  dialogue  through  which  pierced' 
a  vague  sense  of  guilt — a  lurid  shadow  cast  from 
the  world  they  had  contemned.  We  think  of 
that  Bianca  (she  that  "  owned  the  poor  style  of 
Duchess ")  who  had  thrown  such  scorn  on  her 
lover  that  he  vowed  never  to  speak  to  her  again 
of  unlawful  love,  and  who  comes  to  him  in  his 
sleep  the  night  after,  unclad  and  alone,  in  the 
last  abandonment  of  passion.  We  think  of 
Flavia  in  77/6'  fancies  CJiastc  and  Nobley  coldly 
dismissing  her  first  husband  with  the  one  sign 
of  tenderness  as  she  turns  at  length  to  her  new 
husband : — 

"  Beshrew  't,  the  brim  of  your  hut 
Struck  in  mine  eye." 

We  think  of  Calantha,  still  gracious  and  calm 
in  the  festive  dance,  as  the  leaden  messages  of 
awful  death  are  shot  at  slow  intervals  in  her  ear, 
— her  father,  her  friend,  her  lover, —  still  gra 
cious  and  calm  uniil  IMT  duties  are  ended. 


xvi  JOHN  FORD. 

"  When  one  news  straight  came  huddling  on  another, 
Of  death !  and  death  !  and  death  !  still  I  danced  forward  ; 
But  it  struck  home,  and  here,  and  in  an  instant. 

***** 
They  are  the  silent  griefs  which  cut  the  heart-strings; 
Let  me  die  smiling." 

Ford  is  the  most  modern  of  the  tribe  to  whom 
he  belonged.  When  Shelley  in  his  last  days 
began  a  new  drama,  of  which  only  fragments 
remain,  he  reproduced  with  added  sweetness  the 
tones  and  cadences  of  Ford's  verse;  and  the 
writers  to-day  who  seek,  and  in  vain,  to  revive 
our  ancient  drama  on  its  old  lines,  instinctively 
ally  themselves  with  Ford.  When  we  enumerate 
his  great  qualities  we  are  enumerating  the 
qualities  which  make  him  an  ineffectual  drama 
tist.  Notwithstanding  the  ungrudging  admira 
tion  of  his  relatives,  legal  friends,  and  fellow 
dramatists,  and  the  "  generally  well  received  " 
report  of  the  outside  public,  he  could  at  no  time 
have  been  a  really  popular  playwright;  and 
with  the  exception  of  Perkin  Warbcck  his  plays 
have  probably  never  been  represented  in  more 
recent  times.  He  was  a  sensitive  observer  who 
had  meditated  deeply  on  the  springs  of  human 
action,  especially  in  women.  Of  none  of  his 
fellows,  even  the  greatest  of  them,  can  we 
say  this.  They  have  left  us  pictures  of  women 
which  are  incomparably  more  tender,  or  pictur 
esque,  or  tragic  than  the  searching,  deliberate 
art  of  Ford  could  compass.  But  they  looked 
nearly  all  from  the  outside,  and  were  satisfied 


JOHN  FORD.  xvii 

with  the  gracious  or  gorgeous  stage-pictures 
which  they  knew  so  well  how  to  present.  This 
man  writes  of  women  not  as  a  dramatist  nor 
as  a  lover,  but  as  one  who  had  searched  inti 
mately  and  felt  with  instinctive  sympathy  the 
fibres  of  their  hearts.  He  was  an  analyst ;  he 
strained  the  limits  of  his  art  to  the  utmost ;  he 
foreboded  new  ways  of  expression.  Thus  he 
is  less  nearly  related  to  the  men  who  wrote 
Othello,  and  A  Woman  killed  with  Kindness, 
and  Valentinian,  than  to  tffbse  poets  and  artists 
of  the  naked  human  soul,  the  writer  of  Le  Rouge 
et  le  Noir,  and  the  yet  greater  writer  of  Madame 
Bovary. 

HAVELOCK  ELLIS. 


Ford. 


THE 


*fNT>    ITS 


HE  Bankside  in  Southwark  was  from  an  early 
date,  even  before  the  days  of  Henry  VIII., 
one  of  the  favourite  resorts  of  Londoners. 
It  was  a  semi-rural  spot,  very  easy  of  access, 
either  by  walking  over  Old  London  Bridge 
or  by  means  ot  the  river,  #t  that  time  a 
delightful  and  much  frequented  highway. 
Swans  floated  beneath  London  Biidge ; 
magnificent  barges  were  frequently  to  be 
seen  ;  and  in  the  reign  of  James  I.  (accord 
ing  to  Taylor,  "the  Water  Poet")  "the  number  of  wateimen, 
and  those  that  live  and  are  maintained  by  them,  and  by  the  only 
labour  of  the  oar  and  scull,  betwixt  the  bridge  of  Windsor  and 
Giavesend,  cannot  be  fewer  than  forly  thousand  ;  the  cause  of  the 
greater  half  of  which  multitude  hath  been  the  players  playing  on 
the  Bankside." 

Various  amusements — sports,  shows,  fencings — took  place  on  the 
Bankside  long  before  any  theatres  arose  there.  Chief  among  the>e 
amusements  were  bull-baitings  and  bear-baitings  at  Paris  Garden, 
and  when  the  theatres  began  to  grow  up  here — as  at  a  later  day 
they  grew  up  along  the  opposite  Strand — the  baitings  and  plays 
were  to  some  extent  combined,  the  stage  being  movable.  The 
Rose,  close  to  the  Bear  and  Paris  Garden,  was  the  first  theatre 
built  on  the  Bankside.  Its  origin  and  exact  date  aie  not  known; 
it  may  have  existed  even  before  1584,  when  it  was  called  the  Little 
Rose.  The  Swan  Theatre  was  at  the  western  end  of  the  Bankside. 
Both  the  Rose  and  the  Swan  Theatres  were  named  after  existing 
tenements  mentioned  in  Edward  the  Sixth's  charter,  granting  the 
manor  of  Southwark  to  the  City  of  London.  The  Hope  Theatre, 
which  was  both  a  bear-garden  and  a  theatre,  was  erected  piior  to 


xx      THE  BANKSIDE  AND  ITS  THEATRES. 

the  year  1600,  and  it  was  here  that  Ben  Jonson's  Bartholomew  Fair 
was  first  acted  in  1614.  The  building  was  demoli-hed  in  1656  and 
houses  were  built  upon  its  site.  About  a  year  previously  seven 
of  the  bears  belonging  to  the  Bear  Garden  had  been  shot  by  order 
of  Pride,  then  Sheriff  of  Surrey,  by  a  company  of  soldiers.  Paris 
Garden  itself  became  a  theatre  in  1613.  In  Dekker's  Untrussing 
of  the  Humorous  Poet  we  find  it  thus  alluded  to  : — 

"  Tucca.  Thpu  hast  been  in  Paris  Garden,  hast  not? 
Horace.  Yes,  captain,  I  ha'  played  Zulziman  there." 

The  most  famous  of  all  the  Bankside  theatres  was  the  Globe,  built 
on  the  site  occupied  by  Barclay's  Brewery  in  Park  Street.  A  view 
with  a  detailed  notice  of  the  Globe  Theatre  will  be  found  in  the 
volume  of  The  Best  Plays  of  Webster  and  Tourneur. 

Many  persons  connected  with  the  theatres  lived  on  the  Bankside 
— Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Henslowe,  Alleyn,  Kempe,  Lowin. 
The  Falcon  Inn  was  the  favourite  resort  of  dramatists  and  players  ; 
and  St.  Saviour's,  close  by,  is  the  burial-place  of  Gower,  Fletcher, 
Massinger,  Sir  Edward  Dyer,  the  poet,  Shakespeare's  younger 
brother,  Edmund,  and  Henslowe,  the  manager. 


THE   LOVERS 


Peru. 


JR  HENRY  HERBERT  licensed  this 
play  for  the  stage  in  1628,  and  it  was 
acted  Ity  the  King's  Servants  at  the 
Blackfriars  and  Globe  Theatres.  It 
U  was  published  in  the  following  year, 
and  was  the  first  play  that  Ford 
printed,  perhaps  on  account  of  its 
success  on  the  stage.  In  one  of  the  commendatory  poems 
prefixed  to  the  quarto  we  read  : — 

"  Nor  seek  I  fame  for  thee,  when  thine  own  pen 
Hath  forced  a  praise  long  since  from  knowing  men." 

And  although  this  appears  to  be  Ford's  earliest  extant 
play,  we  know  trftit  plays  of  his  had  been  acted  during 
the  previous  fifteen  years.  For  the  material  of  the  masque 
and  the  passage  leading  up  to  it,  Ford  was  indebted  to 
Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  published  a  year  or 
two  previously.  The  play  was  revived  at  Drury  Lane  in 
1748  by  Macklin,  for  his  wife's  benefit ;  apparently  without 
success. 


To  his  worthy  Friend  the  A  tithor. 
MASTER  JOHN  FORD. 

I  write  not  to  thy  play  :  I'll  not  begin 

To  throw  a  censure  upon  what  hath  been 

By  the  best  approved  :  it  can  nor  fear  nor  want 

The  rage  or  liking  of  the  ignorant. 

Nor  seek  I  fame  for  thee,  when  thine  own  pen 

Hath  forced  a  praise  long  since  from  knowing  men. 

I  speak  my  thoughts,  and  wish  unto  the  stage 

A  glory  from  thy  studies  ;  that  the  age 

May  be  indebted  to  thee  for  reprieve 

Of  purer  language,  and  that  spite  may  grieve 

To  see  itself  outdone.     When  thou  art  read, 

The  theatre  may  hope  arts  are  not  dead, 

Though  long  concealed  ;  that  poet-apes  may  fear 

To  vent  their  weakness,  mend,  or  quite  forbear. 

This  I  dare  promise  ;  and  keep  this  in  store, 

As  thou  hast  done  enough,  thou  canst  do  more. 

WILLIAM  SINGLETON. [ 

1  In  a  copy  of  verses  prefixed  to  Massinger's  Emperor  of  the 
East,  Singleton  calls  himself  "  the  friend  and  kinsman  "  of  that 
poet. 


To  -my  Worthily  Respected  Friends, 

NATHANIEL  FINCH,  JOHN  FORD,  ESQUIRES, 

MASTER  HENRY  BLUNT,  MASTER  ROBERT  ELLICE, 

and  all  the  rest  of  the 
NOBLE  SOCIETY  OF  GRAY'S  INN. 

My  Honoured  Friends, 

HE  account  of  some  leisurable  hours  is 
here  summed  up,  and  offered  to  exami 
nation.  Importunity  of  others,  or 
opinion  of  mine  own,  hath  not  urged  on 
any  confidence  of  running  the  hazard  of 
a  censure.  A  plurality  hath  reference 
to  a  multitude,  so  I  care  not  to  please 
many ;  but  where  there  is  a  parity  of 
condition,  there  the  freedom  of  construction  makes  the  best 
music.  This  concord  hath  equally  held  between  you  the 
patrons  and  me  the  presenter.  I  am  cleared  of  all  scruple 
of  disrespect  on  your  parts  ;  as  I  am  of  too  slack  a  merit  in 
myself.  My  presumption  of  coming  in  print  in  this  kind1 
hath  hitherto  been  unreprovable,  this  piece  being  the  first 
that  ever  courted  reader  ;  and  it  is  very  possible  that  the 
like  compliment  with  me  may  soon  grow  out  of  fashion.  A 
practice  of  which  that  I  may  avoid  now,  I  commend  to  the 
continuance  of  your  loves  the  memory  of  his,  who,  without 
the  protestation  of  a  service,  is  readily  your  friend. 

JOHN  FORD. 

1  He    had   previously    printed    "  Fame's  Memorial,"  and,  pro 
bably,  other  poems,  no\v  lost. 


To  tell  ye,  gentlemen,  in  what  true  sense 

The  writer,  actors,  or  the  audience 

Should  mould  their  judgments  for  a  play,  might  draw 

Truth  into  rules  ;  but  we  have  no  such  law. 

Our  writer,  for  himself,  would  have  ye  know 

That  in  his  following  scenes  he  doth  not  owe 

To  others'  fancies,  nor  hath  lain  in  wait 

For  any  stolen  invention,  from  whose  height 

He  might  commend  his  own,  more  than  the  right 

A  scholar  claims,1  may  warrant  for  delight. 

It  is  art's  scorn,  that  some  of  late  have  made 

The  noble  use  of  poetry  a  trade. 

For  your  parts,  gentlemen,  to  quit  his  pains, 

Yet  you  will  please,  that  as  you  meet  with  strains 

Of  lighter  mixture,  but  to  cast  your  eye 

Rather  upon  the  main  than  on  the  bye, 

His  hopes  stand  firm,  and  we  shall  find  it  true, 

The  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY  cured  by  you. 

1  An  allusion  to  his  debt  to  Burton,  and  to  the  version  of  ihe 
story  of  "  the  Nightingale's  death,"  taken  fom  Strada's  Prohisionts 

Academics  (i.  I). 


PALADOR,  Prince  of  Cyprus. 
AMETHUS,  Cousin  to  the  Prince. 
MELEANDER,  an  old  Lord. 
SOPHRONOS,  Brother  of  MELEANDER. 
MENAPHON,  Son  of  SOPHRONOS. 
ARETUS,  Tutor  to  the  Prince 
CORAX,  a  Physician. 

PELIAS,      ) 

\  two  foolish  Courtiers. 
CUCULUS,  ) 

RHETIAS  (a  reduced  Courtier),  Servant  to  EROCLEA. 
TROLLIO,  Servant  to  MELEANDER. 
GRILLA,  a  Page  of  CUCULUS,  in  woman's  dress. 
Officers,  Attendants,  &c. 

THAMASTA,  Sister  of  AMETHUS,  and  Cousin  to  the 

Prince. 

EROCLEA  (as  PARTHENOPHIL),  )  Daughters  of 
CLEOPHILA,  [        MELEANDER. 

KALA,  Waiting-maid  to  THAMASTA. 

SCENE— FAMAGOSTA  in  CYPRUS. 


THE  LOVET^S 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

SCENE  I.—  A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  MENAPHON  and  PELIAS. 

EN.  Dangers  !  how  mean  you  dangers  ? 

that  so  courtly 

You  gratulate  my  safe  return  from  dan 
gers? 

Pel.  From  travels,  noble  sir. 
Men.  These  are  delights ; 

If  my  experience  hath  not,  truant-like, 
Misspent  the  time,  which  I  have  strove  to  use 
For  bettering  my  mind  with  observation. 

Pel.  As  I  am  modest,  I  protest  'tis  strange. 
But  is  it  possible  ? 

Men.  What  ? 

Pel.  To  bestride 

The  frothy  foams  of  Neptune's  surging  waves, 
When  blustering  Boreas  tosseth  up  the  deep 
And  thumps  a  thunder-bounce? 

Men.  Sweet  sir,  'tis  nothing  : 

Straight  comes  a  dolphin,  playing  near  your  ship, 
Heaving  his  crooked  back  up,  and  presents 


8  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA NCHOL  Y.      [ACT  I. 

A  feather-bed  to  waft  ye  to  the  shore 
As  easily  as  if  you  slept  i'  the  court. 

Pel.  Indeed  !  is't  true,  I  pray  ? 

Men.  I  will  not  stretch 

Your  faith  upon  the  tenters. — Prithee,  Pelias, 
Where  didst  thou  learn  this  language  ? 

Pel.  I  this  language  ! 

Alas,  sir,  we  that  study  words  and  forms 
Of  compliment  must  fashion  all  discourse 
According  to  the  nature  of  the  subject. 
But  I  am  silent :— now  appears  a  sun, 
Whose  shadow  I  adore. 

Enter  AMETHUS,  SOPHRONOS,  and  Attendants. 

Men.  My  honoured  father  ! 

Soph.  From  mine  eyes,  son  of  my  care,  my  love, 
The  joys  that  bid  thee  welcome  do  too  much 
Speak  me  a  child. 

Men.  O  princely  sir,  your  hand. 

Amet.  Perform  your  duties  where  you  owe  them  first ; 
I  dare  not  be  so  sudden  in  the  pleasures 
Thy  presence  hath  brought  home. 

Soph.  Here  thou  still  find'st 

A  friend  as  noble,  Menaphon,  as  when 
Thou  left'st  at  thy  departure. 

Men.  Yes,  I  know  it, 

To  him  I  owe  more  service — 

Amet.  Pray  give  leave  : 

He  shall  attend  your  entertainments  soon, 
Next  day,  and  next  day :  for  an  hour  or  two 
I  would  engross  him  only. 

Soph.  Noble  lord  ! 

Amet.  Ye're  both  dismissed. 

Pel.  Your  creature  and  your  servant 

[Exeunt  all  but  AMETHUS  and  MENAPHON. 

Amet.  Give  me  thy  hand.     I  will  not  say,  "Thou'rt 
welcome;  " 


SCENE  I.]  THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.  g 

That  is  the  common  road  of  common  friends. 
I'm  glad  I  have  thee  here — O,  I  want  words 
To  let  thee  know  my  heart ! 

Men.  'Tis  pieced  to  mine. 

Amet.  Yes,  'tis  ;  as  firmly  as  that  holy  thing 
Called  friendship  can  unite  it.     Menaphon, 
My  Menaphon,  now  all  the  goodly  blessings 
That  can  create  a  Heaven  on  earth  dwell  with  thee ! 
Twelve  months  we  have  been  sundered  ;  but  henceforth 
We  never  more  will  part,  till  that  sad  hour 
In  which  death  leaves  the  one  of  us  behind, 
To  see  the  other's  funerals  performed. 
Let's  now  awhile  be  free. — How  have  thy  travels 
Disburthened  thee  abroad  of  discontents  ? 

Men.  Such  cure  as  sick  men  find  in  changing  beds 
I  found  in  change  of  airs :  the  fancy  flattered 
My  hopes  with  ease,  as  theirs  do  :  but  the  grief 
Is  still  the  same. 

Amet.  Such  is  my  case  at  home. 

Cleophila,  thy  kinswoman,  that  maid 
Of  sweetness  and  humility,  more  pities 
Her  father's  poor  afflictions  than  the  tide 
Of  my  complaints. 

Men.  Thamasta,  my  great  mistress, 

Your  princely  sister,  hath,  I  hope,  ere  this 
Confirmed  affection  on  some  worthy  choice. 

Amet.  Not  any,  Menaphon.     Her  bosom  yet 
Is  intermured  with  ice  ;  though,  by  the  truth 
Of  love,  no  day  hath  ever  passed  wherein 
I  have  not  mentioned  thy  deserts,  thy  constancy, 
Thy — Come,  in  troth,  I  dare  not  tell  thee  what, 
Lest  thou  mightst  think  I  fawned  upon ' — a  sin 
Friendship  was  never  guilty  of ;  for  flattery 
Is  monstrous  in  a  true  friend. 

Men.  Does  the  court 

Wear  the  old  looks  too  ? 

1  So  the  old  edition  ;  probably  equivalent  to  "  fawned." 


i  o  THE  L  O  VER  S  MELA NCHOL  Y.        [ACT  I . 

Amet.  If  thou  mean'st  the  prince, 

It  does.     He's  the  same  melancholy  man 
He  was  at's  father's  death ;  sometimes  speaks  sense, 
But  seldom  mirth ;  will  smile,  but  seldom  laugh  ; 
Will  lend  an  ear  to  business,  deal  in  none ; 
Gaze  upon  revels,  antic  fopperies, 
But  is  not  moved ;  will  sparingly  discourse, 
Hear  music ;  but  what  most  he  takes  delight  in 
Are  handsome  pictures.     One  so  young  and  goodly, 
So  sweet  in  his  own  nature,  any  story 
Hath  seldom  mentioned. 

Men.  Why  should  such  as  I  am 

Groan  under  the  light  burthen  of  small  sorrows, 
Whenas  a  prince  so  potent  cannot  shun 
Motions  of  passion  P1     To  be  man,  my  lord, 
Is  to  be  but  the  exercise  of  cares 
In  several  shapes :  as  miseries  do  grow, 
They  alter  as  men's  forms  ;  but  how  none  know. 

Amet.  This  little  isle  of  Cyprus  sure  abounds 
In  greater  wonders  both  for  change  and  fortune 
Than  any  you  have  seen  abroad. 

Men.  Than  any 

I  have  observed  abroad  :  all  countries  else 
To  a  free  eye  and  mind  yield  something  rare  ; 
And  I,  for  my  part,  have  brought  home  one  jewel 
Of  admirable  value. 

Amet.  Jewel,  Menaphon  ! 

Men.  A  jewel,  my  Amethus,  a  fair  youth; 
A  youth,  whom,  if  I  were  but  superstitious, 
I  should  repute  an  excellence  more  high 
Than  mere  creations  are :  to  add  delight, 
I'll  tell  ye  how  I  found  him. 

Amet.  Prithee  do. 

Men.  Passing  from  Italy  to  Greece,  the  tales 
Which  poets  of  an  elder  time  have  feigned 

Sorrow. 


SCENE  i.]     THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA NCHOL  Y.  1 1 

To  glorify  their  Tempe,  bred  in  me 

Desire  of  visiting  that  paradise. 

To  Thessaly  I  came  ;  and  living  private, 

Without  acquaintance  of  more  sweet  companions 

Than  the  old  inmates  to  my  love,  my  thoughts, 

I  day  by  day  frequented  silent  groves 

And  solitary  walks.     One  morning  early 

This  accident  encountered  me :  I  heard 

The  sweetest  and  most  ravishing  contention 

That  art  and  nature  ever  were  at  strife  in.1 

Amet,  I  cannot  yet  conceive  what  you  infer 
By  art  and  nature. 

Men.  I  shall  soon  resolve  ye. 

A  sound  of  music  touched  mine  ears,  or  rather 
Indeed  entranced  my  soul.     As  I  stole  nearer, 
Invited  by  the  melody,  I  saw 
This  youth,  this  fair-faced  youth,  upon  his  lute, 
With  strains  of  strange  variety  and  harmony, 
Proclaiming,  as  it  seemed,  so  bold  a  challenge 
To  the  clear  quiristers  of  the  woods,  the  birds, 
That,  as  they  flocked  about  him,  all  stood  silent, 
Wondering  at  what  they  heard.     I  wondered  too. 

Amet.  And  so  do  I ;  good,  on ! 

Men.  A  nightingale, 

Nature's  best  skilled  musician,  undertakes 
The  challenge,  and  for  every  several  strain 
The  well-shaped  youth  could  touch,  she  sung  her  own ; 
He  could  not  run  division  with  more  art 
Upon  his  quaking  instrument  than  she, 
The  nightingale,  did  with  her  various  notes 
Reply  to  :  for  a  voice  and  for  a  sound, 
Amethus,  'tis  much  easier  to  believe 
That  such  they  were  than  hope  to  hear  again. 

Amet.  How  did  the  rivals  part  ? 

1  Vide  (Ford  says)  Fami.  Stmdam,  lib.  ii.  Prolus.  6.  Acad.  2. 
Imitat.  Claudian.  This  story  has  been  paraohrased  by  Crashaw, 
Ambrose  Philips,  and  other--. 


1 2  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA NCHOL  Y.       [ACT  I. 

Men.  You  term  them  rightly  ; 

For  they  were  rivals,  and  their  mistress,  harmony.  - 
Some  time  thus  spent,  the  young  man  grew  at  last 
Into  a  pretty  anger,  that  a  bird, 
Whom  art  had  never  taught  cliffs,  moods,  or  notes, 
Should  vie  with  him  for  mastery,  whose  study 
Had  busied  many  hours  to  perfect  practice : 
To  end  the  controversy,  in  a  rapture 
Upon  his  instrument  he  plays  so  swiftly, 
So  many  voluntaries  and  so  quick, 
That  there  was  curiosity  and  cunning, 
Concord  in  discord,  lines  of  differing  method 
Meeting  in  one  full  centre  of  delight. 

Amet.  Now  for  the  bird. 

Men.  The  bird,  ordained  to  be 

Music's  first  martyr,  strove  to  imitate 
These  several  sounds ;  which  when  her  warbling  throat 
Failed  in,  for  grief  down  dropped  she  on  his  lute, 
And  brake  her  heart.     It  was  the  quaintest  sadness, 
*  To  see  the  conqueror  upon  her  hearse 
To  weep  a  funeral  elegy  of  tears ; 
That,  trust  me,  my  Amethus,  I  could  chide 
Mine  own  unmanly  weakness,  that  made  me 
A  fellow-mourner  with  him. 

Amet.  I  believe  thee. 

Men.  He  looked  upon  the  trophies  of  his  art, 
Then  sighed,  then  wiped  his  eyes,  then  sighed  and  cried, 
"  Alas,  poor  creature  !  I  will  soon  revenge 
This  cruelty  upon  the  author  of  it ; 
Henceforth  this  lute,  guilty  of  innocent  blood, 
Shall  never  more  betray  a  harmless  peace 
To  an  untimely  end  :"  and  in  that  sorrow, 
As  he  was  pashing l  it  against  a  tree, 
I  suddenly  stept  in.  , 

Amet.  Thou  hast  discoursed 

A  truth  of  mirth  and  pity. 

1  Dashing. 


SCENE  I.]    THE  LOVER' S  MELANCHOLY.  13 

Men.  I  reprieved 

The  intended  execution  with  entreaties 
And  interruption. — But,  my  princely  friend, 
It  was  not  strange  the  music  of  his  hand 
Did  overmatch  birds,  when  his  voice  and  beauty, 
Youth,  carriage,  and  discretion  must,  from  men 
Endued  with  reason,  ravish  admiration  : 
From  me  they  did. 

Amet.  But  is  this  miracle 

Not  to  be  seen  ? 

Men.  I  won  him  by  degrees 

To  choose  me  his  companion.     Whence  he  is, 
Or  who,  as  I  durst  modestly  inquire, 
So  gently  he  would  woo  not  to  make  known  ; 
Only — for  reasons  to  himself  reserved — 
He  told  me,  that  some  remnant  of  his  life 
Was  to  be  spent  in  travel :  for  his  fortunes, 
They  were  nor  mean  nor  riotous ;  his  friends 
Not  published  to  the  world,  though  not  obscure; 
His  country  Athens,  and  his  name  Parthenophil. 

Amet.  Came  he  with  you  to  Cyprus  ? 

Men.  Willingly. 

The  fame  of  our  young  melancholy  prince, 
Meleanders  rare  distractions,  the  obedience 
Of  young  Cleophila,  Thamasta's  glory, 
Your  matchless  friendship,  and  my  desperate  love, 
Prevailed  with  him ;  and  I  have  lodged  him  privately 
In  Famagosta. 

Amet.  Now  thou'rt  doubly  welcome : 

I  will  not  lose  the  sight  of  such  a  rarity 
For  one  part  of  my  hopes.     When  d'ye  intend 
To  visit  my  great-spirited  sister  ? 

Men.  May  I 

Without  offence  ? 

Amet.  Without  offence. — Parrhenophil 

Shall  find  a  worthy  entertainment  too. 
Thou  art  not  still  a  coward  ? 


14  THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY,      [ACT  I. 

Men.  She's  too  excellent, 

And  I  too  low  in  merit. 

Amet.  I'll  prepare 

A  noble  welcome ;  and,  friend,  ere  we  part, 
Unload  to  thee  an  overcharged  heart.  \Excunt. 


SCENE  II. — Another  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  RHETIAS,  carelessly  attired. 

Rhe.  I  will  not  court  the  madness  of  the  times ; 
Nor  fawn  upon  the  riots  that  embalm 
Our  wanton  gentry,  to  preserve  the  dust 
Of  their  affected  vanities  in  coffins 
Of  memorable  shame.     When  commonwealths 
Totter  and  reel  from  that  nobility 
And  ancient  virtue  which  renowns  the  great, 
Who  steer  the  helm  of  government,  while  mushrooms 
Grow  up,  and  make  new  laws  to  license  folly ; 
Why  should  not  I,  a  May-game,  scorn  the  weight 
Of  my  sunk  fortunes  ?  snarl !  at  the  vices 
Which  rot  the  land,  and.  without  fear  or  wi 
Be  mine  own  antic?3     Tis  a  sport  to  live      , 
When  life  is  irksome,  if  we  will  not  hug 
Prosperity  in  others,  and  contemn 
Affliction  in  ourselves.     This  rule  is  certain, 
"  He  that  pursues  his  safety  from  the  school 
Of  state  must  learn  to  be  madman  or  fool." 
Ambition,  wealth,  ease,  I  renounce — the  devil 
That  damns  ye  here  on  earth.     Or  I  will  be 
Mine  own  mirth,  or  mine  own  tormentor. — So  ! 
Here  comes  intelligence ;  a  buzz  o'  the  court. 

1  "  Snarl "  as  well  as  "  girl,"  is  commonly  made  a  dissyllable  by 
our  poet :  he  passed  his  youth  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Dartmoor, 
and  probably  adopted  the  practice  of  that  wild  district.—  Gifford, 

2  i.e.  Carelessly. 

3  Buffoon. 


SCENE  ii.]   THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.  15 

Enter  PELIAS. 

Pel.  Rhetias,  I  sought  thee  out  to  tell  thee  news, 
New,  excellent  new  news.     Cuculus,  sirrah, 
That  gull,  that  young  old  gull,  is  coming  this  way. 

Rhe.  And  thou  art  his  forerunner  ? 

Pel.  Prithee,  hear  me. 

Instead  of  a  fine  guarded 1  page  we've  got  him 
A  boy,  tricked  up  in  neat  and  handsome  fashion ; 
Persuaded  him  that  'tis  indeed  a  wench, 
And  he  has  entertained  him  :  he  does  follow  him, 
Carries  his  sword  and  buckler,  waits  on's  trencher, 
Fills  him  his  wine,  tobacco  ;  whets  his  knife, 
Lackeys  his  letters,  does  what  service  else 
He  would  employ  his  man  in.     Being  asked 
Why  he  is  so  irregular  in  courtship,2 
His  answer  is,  that  since  great  ladies  use 
Gentleman  ushers  to  go  bare  before  them, 
He  knows  no  reason  but  he  may  reduce 
The  courtiers  to  have  women  wait  on  them ; 
And  he  begins  the  fashion  :  he  is  laughed  at 
Most  complimentally.     Thou'lt  burst  to  see  him. 

Rhe.  Agelastus,  so  surnamed  for  his  gravity,3  was  a  very 
wise  fellow,  kept  his  countenance  all  days  of  his  life  as 
demurely  as  a  judge  that  pronounceth  sentence  of  death 
on  a  poor  rogue  for  stealing  as  much  bacon  as  would 
serve  at  a  meal  with  a  calf's  head.  Yet  he  smiled  once, 
and  never  but  once  : — thou  art  no  scholar  ? 

Pel.  I  have  read  pamphlets  dedicated  to  me. — 
Dost  call  him  Agelastus  ?     Why  did  he  laugh  ? 

Rhe.  To  see  an  ass  eat  thistles.  Puppy,  go  study  to 
be  a  singular  coxcomb.  Cuculus  is  an  ordinary  ape ;  but 
thou  art  an  ape  of  an  ape. 

1  i.e.  With  a  livery  richly  laced  or  turned  up. 

-  Court  etiquette. 

3  The  story  is  in  Pliny,  who  tells  it  of  Crassus,  the  grandfather  of 
the  unfortunate  Crassus  who  fell  the  victim  of  his  rapacity  in 
Parthia.— Gifford. 


1 6  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA  NCHOL  Y.        [ACT  I. 

Pel.  Thou  hast  a  patent  to  abuse  thy  friends. — 
Look,  look,  he  comes  !  observe  him  seriously. 

Enter  CUCULUS  followed  by  GRILLA,  both  fantastically 
dressed. 

Cue.  Reach  me  my  sword  and  buckler. 

Gril.  They  are  here,  forsooth. 

Cue.  How  now,  minx,  how  now  !  where  is  your  duty, 
your  distance  ?  Let  me  have  service  methodically  ten 
dered  ;  you  are  now  one  of  us.  Your  curtsy.  [GRILLA 
curtsies.]  Good  !  remember  that  you  are  to  practise 
courtship.  Was  thy  father  a  piper,  sayest  thou  ? 

'Cril.  A  sounder  of  some  such  wind-instrument,  for 
sooth.1 

Cue.  Was  he  so  ?— Hold  up  thy  head.  Be  thou 
musical  to  me,  and  I  will  marry  thee  to  a  dancer;  one 
that  shall  ride  on  his  footcloth,2  and  maintain  thee  in  thy 
muff  and  hood. 

Gril.  That  will  be  fine  indeed. 

Cue.  Thou  art  yet  but  simple. 

Gril.  D'ye  think  so  ? 

Cue.  I  have  a  brain,  I  have  a  head-piece :  o'  my  con 
science,  if  I  take  pains  with  thee,  I  should  raise  thy  under 
standing,  girl,  to  the  height  of  a  nurse,  or  a  court-midwife 
at  least :  I  will  make  thee  big  in  time,  wench. 

Gril.  E'en  do  your  pleasure  with  me,  sir. 

Pel.  [Coming forward]  Noble,  accomplished  Cuculus ! 

Rhe.   [Coming  forward]   Give  me  thy  fist,  innocent. 

Cue.  Would  'twere  in  thy  belly !  there  'tis. 
•   Pel.  That's  well ;  he's  an  honest  blade,  though  he  be 
blunt. 

1  Grilla's  answer  is  meant  to  intimate  that  her  father  was  a  sow- 
gelder.    Sow-gelders,  it  appears,  used  formerly  to  blow  a  horn.    So 
in  Fletcher's  Beggar's  Bush,  act  iii.  sc.  i : 

"  Enter  Higgen  disguised  as  a  sow-gelder,  singing  as  follows, 
Have  ye  any  work  for  the  sow-gelder,  oh  ? 
My  horn  goes  to  high,  to  low,  to  high,  to  low." — Dyce. 

2  i.e.  A  horse's  cloth  housings. 


SCENE  ii .]     THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA NCffOL  Y.          \  7 

Cue.  Who  cares  ?  We  can  be  as  blunt  as  he,  for's  life. 

Rhe.  Cuculus,  there  is,  within  a  mile  or  two,  a  sow-pig 
hath  sucked  a  brach,1  and  now  hunts  the  deer,  the  hare, 
nay,  most  unnaturally,  the  wild-boar,  as  well  as  any 
hound  in  Cyprus. 

Cue.  Monstrous  sow-pig  !  is't  true? 

Pel.  I'll  be  at  charge  of  a  banquet  on  thee  for  a  sight 
of  her. 

Rhe.  Every  thing  takes  after  the  dam  that  gave  it  suck. 
Where  hadst  thou  thy  milk  ? 

Cue.  I  ?  Why,  my  nurse's  husband  was  a  most  excel 
lent  maker  of  shittlecocks. 

Pel.  My  nurse  was  a  woman-surgeon.2 

Rhe.  And  who  gave  thee  pap,  mouse  ? 

Gril.  I  never  sucked,  that  I  remember. 

Rhe.  La  now,  a  shittlecock  maker !  all  thy  brains  are 
stuck  with  cork  and  feather,  Cuculus.  This  learned 
courtier  takes  after  the  nurse  too  ;  a  she-surgeon  ;  which 
is,  in  effect,  a  mere  matcher  of  colours.  Go  learn  to 
paint  and  daub  compliments,  'tis  the  next  step  to  run 
into  a  new  suit.  My  Lady  Periwinkle  here  never  sucked  : 
suck  thy  master,  and  bring  forth  moon-calves,  fop,  do  ! 
This  is  good  philosophy,  sirs  ;  make  use  on't. 

Gril.  Bless  us,  what  a  strange  creature  this  is  ! 

Cue.  A  gull,  an  arrant  gull  by  proclamation. 

Enter  CORAX,  passing  over  the  stage. 
Pel.  Corax,  the  prince's  chief  physician  ! 
-What  business  speeds  his  haste? — Are  all  things  well,  sir? 
Cor.  Yes,  yes,  yes. 

Rhe.  Phew  !  you  may  wheel  about,  man  ;  we  know 
you're  proud  of  your  slovenry  and  practice  ;  'tis  your  vir 
tue.  The  prince's  melancholy  fit,  I  presume,  holds  still. 

1  The  kennel  term  for  a  bitch-hound.     This  anecdote  is  taken 
from  Burton,  who  took  it  from  Giraldn^  <"</ />//»,  >isis.     The  late  Sir 
Harry  Mildmay  had  a  sow-pig  that  would  apparently  do  all  that 
Cuculus  thinks  so  monstrous,  without  having  sucked  a  brach  for  the 
matter. — GifforJ. 

2  i.e.  A  dealer  in  paints  and  cosmetics 

Ford. 


18  THE  LOVER' S  MELANCHOLY.      [ACT  I. 

Cor.  So  do  thy  knavery  and  desperate  beggary. 

Cue.  Aha  !  here's  one  will  tickle  the  ban-dog.1 

Rhe.  You  must  not  go  yet. 

Cor.  I'll  stay  in  spite  of  thy  teeth.  There  lies  my  gra 
vity.  [Throws  off  his  gown ^\  Do  what  thoudarest;  I 
stand  thee. 

Rhe.  Mountebanks,  empirics,  quack- salvers,  mineralists, 
wizards,  alchemists,  cast-apothecaries,  old  wives  and  bar 
bers,  are  all  suppositors  to  the  right  worshipful  doctor, 
as  I  take  it.  Some  of  ye  are  the  head  of  your  art,  and 
the  horns  too — but  they  come  by  nature.  Thou  livest 
single  for  no  other  end  but  that  thou  fearest  to  be  a 
cuckold. 

Cor.  Have  at  thee !  Thou  affectest  railing  only  for 
thy  health ;  thy  miseries  are  so  thick  and  so  lasting,  that 
thou  hast  not  one  poor  denier  to  bestow  on  opening  a 
vein :  wherefore,  to  avoid  a  pleurisy,  thou'lt  be  sure  to 
prate  thyself  once  a  month  into  a  whipping,  and  bleed  in 
the  breech  instead  of  the  arm. 

Rhe.  Have  at  thee  again  ! 

Cor.  Come ! 

Cue.  There,  there,  there !  O  brave  doctor  ! 

Pel.  Let  'em  alone. 

Rhe.  Thou  art  in  thy  religion  an  atheist,  in  thy  condi 
tion2  a  cur,  in  thy  diet  an  epicure,  in  thy  lust  a  goat,  in 
thy  sleep  a  hog ;  thou  takest  upon  thee  the  habit  of  a 
grave  physician,  but  art  indeed  an  impostorous  empiric. 
Physicians  are  the  cobblers,  rather  the  botchers,  of  men's 
bodies  ;  as  the  one  patches  our  tattered  clothes,  so  the 
other  solders  our  diseased  flesh.-  Come  on. 

Cue.  To't,  to't !  hold  him  to't !  hold  him  to't!  to't, 
to't,  to't ! 

Cor.  The  best  worth  in  thee  is  the  corruption  of  thy 
mind,  for  that  only  entitles  thee  to  the  dignity  of  a  louse, 

1  A  dog  kept  fastened  up  on  account  of  its  fierceness.     The  term 
was  also  applied  to  dogs  employed  in  bull  and  b.ear  baiting. 

2  Disposition. 


SCENE  in.]     THE  L O  VER'S  MELANCHOL  Y.         19 

a  thing  bred  out  of  the  filth  and  superfluity  of  ill  humours. 
Thou  bitest  anywhere,  and  any  man  who  defends  not 
himself  with  the  clean  linen  of  secure  honesty  ;  him  thou 
darest  not  come  near.  Thou  art  fortune's  idiot,  virtue's 
bankrupt,  time's  dunghill,  manhood's  scandal,  and  thine 
own  scourge.  Thou  wouldst  hang  thyself,  so  wretchedly 
miserable  thou  art,  but  that  no  man  will  trust  thee 
with  as  much  money  as  will  buy  a  halter ;  and  all  thy 
stock  to  be  sold  is  not  worth  half  as  much  as  may  pro 
cure  it. 

Rhe.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  this  is  flattery,  gross  flattery. 

Cor.  I  have  employment  for  thee,  and  for  ye  all.    Tut, 
these  are  but  good-morrows  between  us. 

Rhe.  Are  thy  bottles  full  ? 

Cor.  Of  rich  wine ;  let's  all  suck  together. 

Rhe.  Like  so  many  swine  in  a  trough. 

Cor.  I'll  shape  ye  all  for  a  device  before  the  prince: 
we'll  try  how  that  can  move  him. 

Rhe.  He  shall  fret  or  laugh. 

Cue.  Must  I  make  one? 

Cor.  Yes,  and  your  feminine  page  too. 

Gril.  Thanks,  most  egregiously. 

Pel.  I  will  not  slack  my  part. 

Cue.  Wench,  take  my  buckler. 

Cor.  Come  all  unto  my  chamber  :  the  project  is  cast : 
the  time  only  we  must  attend. 

Rhe.  The  melody  must  agree  well  and  yield  sport, 
When  such  as  these  are,  knaves  and  fools,  consort. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.    An  Apartment  in  the  House  of 
THAMASTA. 

Enter  AMETHUS,  THAMASTA  and  KALA. 

Amet.  Does  this  show  well  ? 

Tha.  What  would  you  have  me  do  ? 


20  THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.     [ACT  I. 

Amel.  Not  like  a  lady  of  the  trim,  new  crept 
Out  of  the  shell  of  sluttish  sweat  and  labour 
Into  the  glittering  pomp  of  ease  and  wantonness, 
Embroideries,  and  all  these  antic  fashions 
That  shape  a  woman  monstrous ;  to  transform 
Your  education  and  a  noble  birth 
Into  contempt  and  laughter.     Sister,  sister, 
She  who  derives  her  blood  from  princes  ought 
To  glorify  her  greatness  by  humility. 

Tha.  Then  you  conclude  me  proud  ? 

Amet.  Young  Menaphon, 

My  worthy  friend,  has  loved  you  long  and  truly : 
To  witness  his  obedience  to  your  scorn, 
Twelve  months,  wronged  gentleman,  he  undertook 
A  voluntary  exile.     Wherefore,  sister, 
In  this  time  of  his  absence  have  you  not 
Disposed  of  your  affections  on  some  monarch  ? 
Or  sent  ambassadors  to  some  neighbouring  king 
With  fawning  protestations  of  your  graces, 
Your  rare  perfections,  admirable  beauty  ? 
This  had  been  a  new  piece  of  modesty 
Would  have  deserved  a  chronicle  ! 

Tha.  You're  bitter; 

And,  brother,  by  your  leave,  not  kindly 1  wise. 
My  freedom  is  my  birth's  ;  I  am  not  bound 
To  fancy  your  approvements,  but  my  own. 
Indeed,  you  are  an  humble  youth  !     I  hear  of 
Your  visits  and  your  loving  commendation 
To  your  heart's  saint,  Cleophila,  a  virgin 
Of  a  rare  excellence.     What  though  she  want 
A  portion  to  maintain  a  portly  greatness  ? 
Yet  'tis  your  gracious  sweetness  to  descend 
So  low  ;  the  meekness  of  your  pity  leads  ye  ! 
She  is  your  dear  friend's  sister !  a  good  soul ! 
An  innocent ! — • 

Amet.  Thamasta ! 

1  i.e.  According  to  kin. 


SCENE  in.]    THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY,         21 

Tha.  I  have  given 

Your  Menaphon  a  welcome  home,  as  fits  me ; 
For  his  sake  entertained  Parthenophil, 
The  handsome  stranger,  more  familiarly 
Than,  I  may  fear,  becomes  me  ;  yet,  for  his  part, 
I  not  repent  my  courtesies  :  but  you — 

Amet.  No  more,  no  more  !  be  affable  to  both  ; 
Time  may  reclaim  your  cruelty. 

Tha.  I  pity 

The  youth  ;  and,  trust  me,  brother,  love  his  sadness : 
He  talks  the  prettiest  stories  :  he  delivers 
His  tales  so  gracefully,  that  I  could  sit 
And  listen,  nay,  forget  my  meals  and  sleep, 
To  hear  his  neat  discourses.     Menaphon 
Was  well  advised  in  choosing  such  a  friend 
For  pleading  his  true  love. 

Amet.  Now  I  commend  thee  ; 

Thou'lt  change  at  last,  I  hope. 

Tha.  I  fear  I  shall.      [Aside. 

Enter  MENAPHON  and  PARTHENOPHIL. 

Amet.  Have  ye  surveyed  the  garden  ? 

Men.  'Tis  a  curious, 

A  pleasantly  contrived  delight. 

Tha.  Your  eye,  sir, 

Hath  in  your  travels  often  met  contents 
Of  more  variety  ? 

Par.  Not  any,  lady. 

Men.  It  were  impossible,  since  your  fair  presence 
Makes  every  place,  where  it  vouchsafes  to  shine, 
More  lovely  than  all  other  helps  of  art 
Can  equal. 

Tha.  What  you  mean  by  "  helps  of  art," 

You  know  yourself  best :  be  they  as  they  are ; 
You  need  none,  I  am  sure,  to  set  me  forth. 

Men.  'Twould  argue  want  of  manners,  more  than  skill, 
Not  to  praise  praise  itself. 


22  THE  L  O  VER' S  MELANCHOL  Y.       [ACT  i. 

Tha.  For  your  reward, 

Henceforth  I'll  call  you  servant.1 

Amet.  Excellent  sister ! 

Men.  Tis  my  first  step  to  honour.     May  I  fall 
Lower  than  shame,  when  I  neglect  all  service 
That  may  confirm  this  favour  ! 

Tha.  Are  you  well,  sir  ? 

Par.  Great  princess,  I  am  well.     To  see  a  league 
Between  an  humble  love,  such  as  my  friend's  is, 
And  a  commanding  virtue,  such  as  yours  is, 
Are  sure  restoratives. 

Tha.  You  speak  ingeniously.—2 

Brother,  be  pleased  to  show  the  gallery 
To  this  young  stranger.     Use  the  time  a  while, 
And  we  will  all  together  to  the  court : 
I  will  present  ye,  sir,  unto  the  prince. 

Par.  You're  all  composed  of  fairness  and  true  bounty. 

Amet.  Come,  come. — We'll   wait   thee,    sister.     This 

beginning 
Doth  relish  happy  process. 

Men.  You  have  blessed  me. 

\Exeunt  MENAPHON,  AMETHUS,  and  PARTHE- 
NOPHIL. 

Tha.  Kala,  O  Kala  ! 

Kal.  Lady? 

Tha.  '    We  are  private  ; 

Thou  art  my  closet. 

Kal.  Lock  your  secrets  close,  the.i : 

I  am  not  to  be  forced. 

Tha.  Never  till  now 

Could  I  be  sensible  of  being  traitor 
To  honour  and  to  shame. 

Kal.  You  are  in  love. 

Tha.  I  am  grown  base. — Parthenophil — 

Kal.  He's  handsome, 

*  i.e.  Acknowledge  you  as  a  lover.  z  i.e.  Wittily. 


SCENE  m.j   THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.          23 

Richly  endowed ;  he  hath  a  lovely  face, 
A  winning  tongue. 

T/ia.  If  ever  I  must  fall, 

Jn  him  my  greatness  sinks  :  Love  is  a  tyrant, 
Resisted.     Whisper  in  his  ear,  how  gladly 
I  would  steal  time  to  talk  with  him  one  hour  : 
But  do  it  honourably ;  prithee,  Kala, 
Do  not  betray  me. 

Kal.  Madam,  I  will  make  it 

Mine  own  case ;  he  shall  think  I  am  in  love  with  him. 

Tha.  I  hope  thou  art  not,  Kala. 

Kal.  'Tis  for  your  sake  : 

I'll  tell  him  so  ;  but,  'faith,  I  am  not,  lady. 

Tha.  Pray,  use  me  kindly ;  let  me  not  too  soon 
Be  lost  in  my  new  follies.     'Tis  a  fate 
That  overrules  our  wisdoms  ;  whilst  we  strive 
To  live  most  free,  we're  caught  in  our  own  toils. 
Diamonds  cut  diamonds ;  they  who  will  prove 
To  thrive  in  cunning  must  cure  love  with  love.    \_Exeunt. 


ACT    THE    SECOND. 

SCENE  I. — An  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  SOPHRONOS  and  ARETUS. 

OPH.    Our  commonwealth   is  sick :    'tis 
more  than  time 

That  we  should  wake  the  head  thereof, 
who  sleeps 

In  the  dull  lethargy  of  lost  security. 

The  commons  murmur,  and  the  nobles 
The  court  is  now  turned  antic,  and  grows  wild,     [grieve ; 
Whiles  all  the  neighbouring  nations  stand  at  gaze, 
And  watch  fit  opportunity  to  wreak 
Their  just-conceived  fury  on  such  injuries 
As  the  late  prince,  our  living  master's  father, 
Committed  against  laws  of  truth  or  honour. 
Intelligence  comes  flying  in  on  all  sides  ; 
Whilst  the  unsteady  multitude  presume 
How  that  you,  Aretus,  and  I  engross, 
Out  of  particular  ambition, 

The  affairs  of  government ;  which  I,  for  my  part, 
Groan  under  and  am  weary  of. 

Are.  Sophronos, 

I  am  as  zealous  too  of  shaking  off 
My  gay  state-fetters,  that  I  have  bethought 
Of  speedy  remedy  ;  and  to  that  end, 
As  I  have  told  ye,  have  concluded  with 
Corax,  the  prince's  chief  physician. 

Soph.  You  should  have  done  this  sooner.  Arehr  . 


SCENE  I.]     THE  LOVERS  MELANCHOLY.  25 

You  were  his  tutor,  and  could  best  discern 
His  dispositions,  to  inform  them  rightly. 

Are.  Passions  of  violent  nature,  by  degrees 
Are  easiliest  reclaimed.     There's  something  hid 
Of  his  distemper,  which  we'll  now  find  out. 

Enter  CORAX,  RHETIAS,  PELIAS,  CUCULUS,  and 
GRILLA. 

You  come  on  just  appointment.     Welcome,  gentlemen  ! 
Have  you  won  Rhetias,  Corax  ? 

Cor.  Most  sincerely. 

Cue.  Save  ye,  nobilities !  Do  your  lordships  take 
notice  of  my  page  ?  Tis  a  fashion  of  the  newest  edi 
tion,  spick  and  span  new,  without  example. — Do  your 
honour,  housewife. 

Gril.  There's  a  curtsey  for  you, — and  a  curtsey  for 
you. 

Soph.  'Tis  excellent :  we  must  all  follow  fashion, 
And  entertain  she-waiters. 

Are.  'Twill  be  courtly. 

Cue.  I  think  so  ;  I  hope  the  chronicles  will  rear  me 
one  day  for  a  headpiece— 

Rhe.  Of  woodcock,1  without  brains  in't !  Barbers 
shall  wear  thee  on  their  citterns,2  and  hucksters  set  thee 
out  in  gingerbread. 

Cue.  Devil  take  thee !  I  say  nothing  to  thee  now ; 
can'st  let  me  be  quiet  ? 

Gril.  You're  too  perstreperous,  saucebox. 

Cue.  Good  girl ! — If  we  begin  to  puff  once — 

Pel.  Prithee,  hold  thy  tongue ;  the  lords  are  in  the 
presence. 

1  Simpleton. 

2  It  appears  from  innumerable  passages  in  our  old  writers,  that 
barbers'  shops  were  furnished  with  some  musical  instrument  (com 
monly  a  cittern  or  guitar),  for  the  amusement  of  such  customers  as 
chose  to  strum  upon  it  while  waiting  for  their  turn  to  be  shaved, 
&c. — Gifford.     "Citterns,"  Dyce  adds,  "  were  usually  ornamented 
with  grotesque  heads  carved  at  the  extremity  of  the  neck  and  finger 
board." 


26  THE  LOVER 'S  MELANCHOLY.      [ACT  n. 

Rhe.  Mum,  butterfly ! 

Pel.  The  prince  !  stand  and  keep  silence. 

Cue.  O,  the  prince ! — Wench,  thou  shalt  see  the  prince 
now.  [Soft  music. 

Enter  PALADOR  with  a  book. 

Soph.  Sir! 

Are.  Gracious  sir ! 

Pal.  Why  all  this  company  ? 

Cor.  A  book  !  is  this  the  early  exercise 
I  did  prescribe  ?  instead  of  following  health, 
Which  all  men  covet,  you  pursue  disease. 
Where's   your  great   horse,   your   hounds,   your   set   at 

tennis, 

Your  balloon-ball,1  the  practice  of  your  dancing, 
Your  casting  of  the  sledge,  or  learning  how 
To  toss  a  pike  ?  all  changed  into  a  sonnet ! 
Pray,  sir,  grant  me  free  liberty  to  leave 
The  court ;  it  does  infect  me  with  the  sloth 
Of  sleep  and  surfeit :  in  the  university 
I  have  employments,  which  to  my  profession 
Add  profit  and  report ;  here  I  am  lost, 
And  in  your  wilful  dulness  held  a  man 
Of  neither  art  nor  honesty.     You  may 
Command  my  head  : — pray,  take  it,  do  !  'twere  better 
For  me  to  lose  it  than  to  lose  my  wits, 
And  live  in  Bedlam ;  you  will  force  me  to't ; 
I'm  almost  mad  already. 

Pal.  I  believe  it. 

Soph.  Letters  are  come  from  Crete,  which  do  require 
A  speedy  restitution  of  such  ships 
As  by  your  father  were  long  since  detained ; 
If  not,  defiance  threatened. 

Are.  These  near  parts 

Of  Syria  that  adjoin  muster  their  friends  ; 
And  by  intelligence  we  learn  for  certain 

1  A  large  inflated  ball  of  leather  used  in  a  gam?  called  balloon. 


SCENE  I.]    THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.  27 

The  Syrian  will  pretend  an  ancient  interest 
Of  tribute  intermitted. 

Soph.  Through  your  land 

Your  subjects  mutter  strangely,  and  imagine 
More  than  they  dare  speak  publicly. 

Cor.  And  yet 

They  talk  but  oddly  of  you. 

Cue.  Hang  'em,  mongrels. 

Pal.  Of  me !  my  subjects  talk  of  me  ! 

Cor.  Yes,  scurvily, 

And  think  worse,  prince. 

Pal.  I'll  borrow  patience 

A  little  time  to  listen  to  these  wrongs ; 
And  from  the  few  of  you  which  are  here  present 
Conceive  the  general  voice. 

Cor.  So  !  now  he's  nettled.   \Aside. 

Pal.  By  all  your  loves  I  charge  ye,  without  fear 
Or  flattery,  to  let  me  know  your  thoughts, 
And  how  I  am  interpreted  :  speak  boldly. 

Soph.  For  my  part,  sir,  I  will  be  plain  and  brief. 
I  think  you  are  of  nature  mild  and  easy, 
Not  willingly  provoked,  but  withal  headstrong 
In  any  passion  that  misleads  your  judgment  \ 
I  think  you  too  indulgent  to  such  motions 
As  spring  out  of  your  own  affections  ; 
Too  old  to  be  reformed,  and  yet  too  young 
To  take  fit  counsel  from  yourself  of  what 
Is  most  amiss. 

Pal.  So  !—  Tutor,  your  conceit  ? 

Arc.  I  think  you   dote — with   pardon  let  me   speak 

it— 

Too  much  upon  your  pleasures  ;  and  these  pleasures 
Are  so  wrapt  up  in  self-love,  that  you  covet 
No  other  change  of  fortune  ;  would  be  still 
What  your  birth  makes  you  ;  but  are  loth  to  toil 
In  such  affairs  of  state  as  break  your  sleeps. 

Cor.  I  think  you  would  be  by  the  world  reputed 


28  THE  LOVER' S  MELANCHOL Y.     [ACT  n. 

A  man  in  every  point  complete  ;  but  are 
In  manners  and  effect l  indeed  a  child, 
A  boy,  a  very  boy. 

Pel.  May't  please  your  grace, 

I  think  you  do  contain  within  yourself 
The  great  elixir,  soul,  and  quintessence 
Of  all  divine  perfections  ;  are  the  glory 
Of  mankind,  and  the  only  strict  example 
For  earthly  monarchs  to  square  out  their  lives  by ; 
Time's  miracle,  Fame's  pride  ;  in  knowledge,  wit, 
Sweetness,  discourse,  arms,  arts — 

Pal.  You  are  a  courtier. 

Cue.  But  not  of  the  ancient  fashion,  an't  like  your 
highness.  'Tis  I ;  I  that  am  the  credit  of  the  court, 
noble  prince  ;  and  if  thou  wouldst,  by  proclamation 
or  patent,  create  me  overseer  of  all  the  tailors  in  thy 
dominions,  then,  then  the  golden  days  should  appear 
again  ;  bread  should  be  cheaper,  fools  should  have  more 
wit,  knaves  more  honesty,  and  beggars  more  money. 
*  Gril.  I  think  now — 

Cue.  Peace,  you  squall ! 

Pal.  \to  RHETIAS]  You  have  not  spoken  yet. 

Cue.  Hang  him  !  he'll  nothing  but  rail. 

Gril.  Most  abominable ; — out  upon  him  ! 

Cor.  Away,  Cuculus ;  follow  the  lords. 

Cue.  Close,  page,  close. 

[They  all  silently  withdraw  except  PALADOR  and 
RHETIAS. 

Pal.  You  are  somewhat  long  a'  thinking. 

Rhe.  I  do  not  think  at  all. 

Pal.  Am  I  not  worthy  of  your  thought  ? 

Rhe.  My  pity  you  are,  but  not  my  reprehension. 

Pal.  Pity! 

Rhe.  Yes,  for  I  pity  such  to  whom  I  owe  service,  who 
exchange  their  happiness  for  a  misery. 

Pal.  Is  it  a  misery  to  be  a  prince  ? 

1  Qy.  "Affect."— Dyce. 


SCENE  i.]     THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.  29 

Rht.  1'rinces  who  forget  their  sovereignty,  and  yield 
to  affected  passion,  are  weary  of  command. — You  had  a 
father,  sir. 

Pal.  Your  sovereign,  whiles  he  lived :  but  what  of  him  ? 

Rhe.  Nothing.     I  only  dared  to  name  him ;  that's  all. 

Pal.  I  charge  thee,  by  the  duty  that  thou  ow'st  us, 
Be  plain  in  what  thou  mean'st  to  speak  :  there's  some 
thing 
That  we  must  know :  be  free ;  our  ears  are  open. 

Rhe.  O,  sir,  I  had  rather  hold  a  wolf  by  the  ears  than 
stroke  a  lion  :  the  greatest  danger  is  the  last. 

Pal.  This  is  mere  trifling. — Ha  !  are  all  stol'n  hence  ? 
We  are  alone :  thou  hast  an  honest  look ; 
Thou  hast  a  tongue,  I  hope,  that  is  not  oiled 
With  flattery  :  be  open.     Though  'tis  true 
That  in  my  younger  days  I  oft  have  heard 
Agenor's  name,  my  father,  more  traduced 
Than  I  could  then  observe ;  yet  I  protest 
I  never  had  a  friend,  a  certain  friend, 
That  would  inform  me  throughly  of  such  errors 
As  oftentimes  are  incident  to  princes. 

Rhe.  All  this  may  be.  I  have  seen  a  man  so  curious 
in  feeling  of  the  edge  of  a  keen  knife,  that  he  has  cut  his 
fingers.  My  flesh  is  not  of  proof  against  the  metal  I 
am  to  handle ;  the  one  is  tenderer  than  the  other. 

Pal.  I  see,  then,  I  must  court  thee.     Take  the  word 
Of  a  just  prince  ;  for  anything  thou  speakest 
I  have  more  than  a  pardon, — thanks  and  love. 

Rhe.  I  will  remember  you  of  an  old  tale  that  something 
concerns  you.  Meleander,  the  great  but  unfortunate 
statesman,  was  by  your  father  treated  with  for  a  match 
between  you  and  his  eldest  daughter,  the  Lady  Eroclea: 
you  were  both  near  of  an  age.  I  presume  you  remember 
a  contract,  and  cannot  forget  her. 

I'al.  She  \vas  a  lovely  beauty.     Prithee,  forward  ! 

Rhe.  To  court  was  Eroclea  brought ;  was  courted  by 
your  father,  not  for  Prince  Palador,  as  i^  followed,  but  to 


30  THE  LOVER 'S  MELANCHOLY.     [ACT  n. 

be  made  a  prey  to  some  less  noble  design.     With  your 
favour,  I  have  forgot  the  rest. 

Pal.  Good,  call  it  back  again  into  thy  memory ; 
Else,  losing  the  remainder,  I  am  lost  too. 

Rhe.  You  charm  *  me.  In  brief,  a  rape  by  some  bad 
agents  was  attempted ;  by  the  Lord  Meleander  her  father 
rescued,  she  conveyed  away ;  Meleander  accused  of 
treason,  his  land  seized,  he  himself  distracted  and  con 
fined  to  the  castle,  where  he  yet  lives.  What  had  ensued 
was  doubtful ;  but  your  father  shortly  after  died. 

Pal.  But  what  became  of  fair  Eroclea  ? 

Rhe.  She  never  since  was  heard  of. 

Pal.  No  hope  lives,  then, 
Of  ever,  ever  seeing  her  again  ? 

Rhe.  Sir,  I  feared  I  should  anger  thee.  There  was,  as 
I  said,  an  old  tale : — I  have  now  a  new  one,  which  may 
perhaps  season  the  first  with  a  more  delightful  relish. 

Pal.  I  am  prepared  to  hear ;  say  what  you  please. 

Rhe.  My  Lord  Meleander  failing, — on  whose  favour 
"my  fortunes  relied,— I  furnished  myself  for  travel,  and 
bent  my  course  to  Athens ;  where  a  pretty  accident,  after 
a  while,  came  to  my  knowledge, 

Pal.  My  ear  is  open  to  thee. 

Rhe.  A  young  lady  contracted  to  a  noble  gentleman,  as 
the  lady  we  last  mentioned  and  your  highness  were,  being 
hindered  by  their  jarring  parents,  stole  from  her  home, 
and  was  conveyed  like  a  ship-boy  in  a  merchant 2  from 
the  country  where  she  lived,  into  Corinth  first,  afterwards 
to  Athens ;  where  in  much  solitariness  she  lived,  like  a 
youth,  almost  two  years,  courted  by  all  for  acquaintance, 
but  friend  to  none  by  familiarity. 

Pal.  In  habit  of  a  man  ? 

Rhe.  A  handsome  young  man — till,  within  these  three 
months  or  less, — her  sweetheart's  father  dying  some  year 
before  or  more, — she  had  notice  of  it,  and  with  much  joy 
returned  home,  and,  as  report  voiced  it  at  Athens,  enjoyed 

1  Persuade.  2  i.e.  A  merchant  ship. 


SCENE  I.]     THE  LOVER' 'S  MELANCHOLY.  31 

her  happiness  she  was  long  an  exile  for.  Now,  noble  sir, 
if  you  did  love  the  Lady  Eroclea,  why  may  not  such 
safety  and  fate  direct  her  as  directed  the  other  ?  'tis  not 
impossible. 

Pal.  If  I  did  love  her,  Rhetias !     Yes,  I  did. 
Give  me  thy  hand  :  as  thou  didst  serve  Meleander, 
And  art  still  true  to  these,  henceforth  serve  me. 

RJie.  My  duty  and  my  obedience  are  my  surety ; 
But  I  have  been  too  bold. 

Pal.  Forget  the  sadder  story  of  my  father, 
And  only,  Rhetias,  learn  to  read 1  me  well ; 
For  I  must  ever  thank  thee  :  thou'st  unlocked 
A  tongue  was  vowed  to  silence ;  for  requital, 
Open  my  bosom,  Rhetias. 

Rhe.  What's  your  meaning  ? 

Pal.  To  tie  thee  to  an  oath  of  secrecy. 
Unloose  the  buttons,  man  :  thou  dost  it  faintly. 
What  find'st  thou  there  ? 

Rhc.  A  picture  in  a  tablet. 

Pal.  Look  well  upon't. 

Rhc.  I  do — yes — let  me  observe  it — 

Tis  hers,  the  lady's. 

Pal.  Whose  ? 

Rhe.  Eroclea' s. 

Pal.  Hers  that  was  once  Eroclea.     For  her  sake 
Have  I  advanced  Sophronos  to  the  helm 
Of  government ;  for  her  sake  will  restore 
Meleander's  honours  to  him ;  will,  for  her  sake, 
Beg  friendship  from  thee,  Rhetias.     O,  be  faithful, 
And  let  no  politic  lord  work  from  thy  bosom 
My  griefs  :  I  know  thou  wert  put  on  to  sift  me ; 
But  be  not  too  secure. 

Rhe.  I  am  your  creature. 

Pal.  Continue  still  thy  discontented  fashion, 
Humour  the  lords,  as  they  would  humour  me ; 
I'll  not  live  in  thy  debt. — We  are  discovered. 

1  Comprehend. 


32  THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.     [ACT  n. 

Enter  AMETHUS,   MENAPHON,   THAMASTA,    KALA,   and 
PARTHENOPHIL. 

Amet.  Honour  and  health  still  wait  upon  the  prince  ! 
Sir,  I  am  bold  with  favour  to  present 
Unto  your  highness  Menaphon  my  friend, 
Returned  from  travel. 

Men.  Humbly  on  my  knees 

I  kiss  your  gracious  hand. 

Pal.  It  is  our  duty 

To  love  the  virtuous. 

Men.  If  my  prayers  or  service 

Hold  any  value,  they  are  vowed  yours  ever. 

Rhe.  I  have  a  fist  for  thee  too,  stripling;  thou'rt 
started  up  prettily  since  I  saw  thee.  Hast  learned  any 
wit  abroad  ?  Canst  tell  news  and  swear  lies  with  a 
grace,  like  a  true  traveller  ?— What  new  ouzel's  this? 

Tha.  Your  highness  shall  do  right  to  your  own  judg 
ment 

In  taking  more  than  common  notice  of 
This  stranger,  an  Athenian,  named  Parthenophil; 
One  who,  if  mine  opinion  do  not  soothe  me 
Too  grossly,  for  the  fashion  of  his  mind 
Deserves  a  dear  respect. 

Pal.  Your  commendations, 

Sweet  cousin,  speak  him  nobly. 

Par.  All  the  powers 

That  sentinel  just  thrones  double  their  guards 
About  your  sacred  excellence  ! 

Pal.  What  fortune 

Led  him  to  Cyprus  ? 

Men.  My  persuasions  won  him. 

Amet.  And  if  your  highness  please  to  hear  the  entrance 
Into  their  first  acquaintance,  you  will  say — 

Tha.  It  was  the  newest,  sweetest,  prettiest  accident 
That  e'er  delighted  your  attention  : 
I  can  discourse  it,  sir. 


SCENE  I .]      THE  L  0 1  *ER ' S  MELA NCHOL  Y.  33 

Pal.  Some  other  time. 

How  is  he  called  ? 

Tha.  Parthenophil. 

Pal  Parthenophil ! 

We  shall  sort  time  to  take  more  notice  of  him.         [Exit. 

Men.  His  wonted  melancholy  still  pursues  him. 

Ainet.  I  told  you  so. 

Tha.  You  must  not  wonder  at  it. 

Par.  I  do  not,  lady. 

Amet.  Shall  we  to  the  castle  ? 

Men.  We  will  attend  ye  both. 

Rhe.  All  three, — I'll  go  too.  Hark  in  thine  ear, 
gallant;  I'll  keep  the  old  madman  in  chat,  whilst  thou 
gabbiest  to  the  girl:  my  thumb's  upon  my  lips;  not  a  word. 

Amet.   I  need  not  fear  thee,  Rhetias.     Sister,  soon 
Expect  us :  this  day  we  will  range  the  city. 

Tha.  Well,  soon  I  shall  expect  ye. — Kala ! 

[Aside  to  KALA. 

A'al.  Trust  me. 

Jt/ic.  Troop  on ! — Love,  love,  what  a  wonder  thou  art ! 
[Exeunt  all  but  PARTHENOPHIL  and  KALA. 

A'al.  May  I  not  be  offensive,  sir? 

Par.  Your  pleasure? 

Yet,  pray,  be  brief. 

Kal.  Then,  briefly ;  good,  resolve  me  ; 

Have  you  a  mistress  or  a  wife  ? 

Par.  I've  neither. 

Kal.  Nor  did  you  ever  love  in  earnest  any 
Fair  lady,  whom  you  wished  to  make  your  own  ? 

Par.  Not  any,  truly. 

Kal.  What  your  friends  or  means  are 

I  will  not  be  inquisitive  to  know, 
Nor  do  I  care  to  hope  for.     But  admit 
A  dowry  were  thrown  down  before  your  choice, 
Of  beauty,  noble  birth,  sincere  affection, 
How  gladly  would  you  entertain  it!     Young  man, 
I  do  not  tempt  you  idly. 

Frrd.  H 


3 4  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA NCHOL  Y.      [ACT  II. 

Par.  I  shall  thank  you, 

When  my  unsettled  thoughts  can  make  me  sensible 
Of  what  'tis  to  be  happy  ;  for  the  present 
I  am  your  debtor ;  and,  fair  gentlewoman, 
Pray  give  me  leave  as  yet  to  study  ignorance, 
For  my  weak  brains  conceive  not  what  concerns  me. 
Another  time —  [Going. 

Re-enter  THAMASTA. 

Tha.  Do  I  break  off  your  parley, 

That  you  are  parting  ?     Sure,  my  woman  loves  you  : 
Can  she  speak  well,  Parthenophil  ? 

Par.  Yes,  madam, 

Discreetly  chaste  she  can  ;  she  hath  much  won 
On  my  belief,  and  in  few  words,  but  pithy, 
Much  moved  my  thankfulness.     You  are  her  lady ; 
Your  goodness  aims,  I  know,  at  her  preferment ; 
Therefore  I  may  be  bold  to  make  confession 
Of  truth :  if  ever  I  desire  to  thrive 
In  woman's  favour,  Kala  is  the  first 
Whom  my  ambition  shall  bend  to. 

Tha.  Indeed ! 

But  say  a  nobler  love  should  interpose. 

Par.  Where  real  worth  and  constancy  first  settle 
A  hearty  truth,  there  greatness  cannot  shake  it; 
Nor  shall  it  mine  :  yet  I  am  but  an  infant 
In  that  construction,  which  must  give  clear  light 
To  Kala's  merit ;  riper  hours  hereafter 
Must  learn  me  how  to  grow  rich  in  deserts. 
Madam,  my  duty  waits  on  you.  [Exit. 

Tha.  Come  hither  : — 

"  If  ever  henceforth  I  desire  to  thrive 
In  woman's  favour,  Kala  is  the  first 
Whom  my  ambition  shall  bend  to."     'Twas  so  ! 

Kal.  These  very  words  he  spake. 

Tha.  These  very  words 

Curse  thee,  unfaithful  creature,  to  thy  grave. 
Thou  woo'dst  him  for  thyself? 


SCENE  II.]    THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.  35 

Kal.  You  said  I  should. 

Tha.  My  name  was  never  mentioned  ? 

Kal.  Madam,  no ; 

We  were  not  come  to  that. 

Tha.  Not  come  to  that ! 

Art  thou  a  rival  fit  to  cross  my  fate  ? 
Now  poverty  and  a  dishonest  fame, 
The  waiting- woman's  wages,  be  thy  payment, 
False,  faithless,  wanton  beast !      I'll  spoil  your  marriage.1 
There's  not  a  page,  a  groom,  nay,  not  a  citizen 
That  shall  be  cast  away  upon  ye,  Kala ; 
I'll  keep  thee  in  my  service  all  thy  lifetime, 
Without  hope  of  a  husband  or  a  suitor. 

Kal.  I  have  not  verily  deserved  this  cruelty. 

Tha.  Parthenophil  shall  know,  if  he  respect 
My  birth,  the  danger  of  a  fond 2  neglect.  \Exit. 

Kal.  Are  you  so  quick  ?  Well,  I  may  chance  to  cross 
Your  peevishness.     Now,  though  I  never  meant 
The  young  man  for  myself,  yet,  if  he  love  me, 
I'll  have  him,  or  I'll  run  away  with  him ; 
And  let  her  do  her  worst  then  !  What !  we're  all 
But  flesh  and  blood ;  the  same  thing  that  will  do 
My  lady  good  will  please  her  woman  too.  \Exit. 


SCENE  II.     An  Apartment  in  the  Castle. 

Enter  CLEOPHILA  and  TROLLIO. 

Cleo.  Tread  softly,  Trollio ;  my  father  sleeps  still. 

Trol.  Ay,  forsooth  ;  but  he  sleeps  like  a  hare,  with  his 
eyes  open,  and  that's  no  good  sign. 

Cleo.  Sure,  thou  art  weary  of  this  sullen  living  : 
But  I  am  not ;  for  I  take  more  content 
In  my  obedience  here  than  all  delights 
The  time  presents  elsewhere. 

1  "  Carriage  "  in  the  old  eds.  2  Foolish. 


36  THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.      [ACT  n. 

Mel.  [  Within}  O  ! 

Cleo.  Dost  hear  that  groan  ? 

Trol.  Hear  it !  I  shudder :  it  was  a  strong  blast,  young 
mistress,  able  to  root  up  heart,  liver,  lungs,  and  all. 

Cleo.  My  much-wronged  father  !  let  me  view  his  face. 
[Draws  the  arras  .-1  MELEANDER  discovered 
in  a  chair,  sleeping. 

Trol.  Lady  mistress,  shall  I  fetch  a  barber  to  steal 
away  his  rough  beard  whiles  he  sleeps  ?  In's  naps  he 
never  looks  in  a  glass — and  'tis  high  time,  on  conscience, 
for  him  to  be  trimmed  ;  'has  not  been  under  the  shaver's 
hand  almost  these  four  years. 

Cleo.  Peace,  fool ! 

Trol.  [Aside]  I  could  clip  the  old  ruffian ;  there's  hair 
enough  to  stuff  all  the  great  codpieces  in  Switzerland. 
'A  begins  to  stir ;  'a  stirs.  Bless  us,  how  his  eyes  roll ! 
— A  good  year  keep  your  lordship  in  your  right  wits,  I 
beseech  ye ! 

Mel.  Cleophila! 

Cleo.  Sir,  I  am  here;  how  d'ye,  sir? 

Trol.  Sir,  is  your  stomach  up  yet?  get  some  warm 
porridge  in  your  belly  ;  'tis  a  very  good  settle-brain. 

Mel.   The    raven    croaked,    and    hollow    shrieks    of 

owls 

Sung  dirges  at  her  funeral ;  I  laughed 
The  whiles,  for  'twas  no  boot  to  weep.     The  girl 
Was  fresh  and  full  of  youth  :  but,  O,  the  cunning 
Of  tyrants,  that  look  big  !  their  very  frowns 
Doom  poor  souls  guilty  ere  their  cause  be  heard. — 
Good,  what  art  thou  ?— and  thou  ? 

Cleo.  I  am  Cleophila, 

Your  woeful  daughter. 

Trol.  I  am  Trollio, 

Your  honest  implement, 

1  Airas  was  used  precisely  as  a  curtain:  it  hung  (on  tenters  or 
lines)  from  the  rafters,  or  from  some  temporary  stay,  and  was 
opened,  held  up,  or  drawn  aside,  as  occasion  required. — Gi/ord. 


SCENE  II.]    THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.  37 

Mel.   I  know  ye  both,     'Las,  why  d'ye  use  me  thus? 
Thy  sister,  my  Eroclea,  was  so  gentle, 
That  turtles  in  their  down  do  feed  more  gall 
Than  her  spleen  mixed  with :  yet,  when  winds  and  storm 
Drive  dirt  and  dust  on  banks  of  spotless  snow, 
The  purest  whiteness  is  no  such  defence 
Against  the  sullying  foulness  of  that  fury. 
So  raved  Agenor,  that  great  man,  mischief 
Against  the  girl  :  'twas  a  politic  trick  ! 
We  were  too  old  in  honour.     I  am  lean, 
And  fall'n  away  extremely;  most  assuredly 
I  have  not  dined  these  three  days. 

Cleo.  Will  you  now,  sir  ? 

Trol.  I  beseech  ye  heartily,  sir :  I  feel  a  horrible 
puking  myself. 

Mel.  Am  I  stark  mad  ? 

Trol.  [Aside]  No,  no,  you  are  but  a  little  staring ; 
there's  difference  between  staring  and  stark  mad.  You 
are  but  whimsied  yet ;  crotcheted,  conumdrumed,  or  so. 

Mel.  Here's  all  my  care ;  and  I  do  often  sigh 
For  thee,  Cleophila  ;  we  are  secluded 
From  all  good  people.     But  take  heed ;  Amethus 
Was  son  to  Doryla,  Agenor's  vsister ; 
There's  some  ill  blood  about  him,  if  the  surgeon 
Have  not  been  very  skilful  to  let  all  out. 

Cleo.     I  am,  alas,  too  grieved  to  think  of  love  ; 
That  must  concern  me  least. 

Mel.  Sirrah,  be  wise  !  be  wise  ! 

Trol.  Who,  I  ?  I  will  be  monstrous  and  wise  imme 
diately. 

Enter  AMETHUS,  MENAPHON,  PAR  i  m XOPHIL,  and 
RHETIAS. 

Welcome,  gentlemen  ;  the  more  the  merrier.     I'll  lay  the 

cloth,  and  set  the  stools  in  a  readiness,  for  I  see  hen-  is 

some  hope  of  dinner  now.  |/,'.v//. 

Awe/.   My  Lord  Meleandcr,  Mcnaphon,  your  kinsman, 


38  THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.      [ACT  n. 

Newly  returned  from  travel,  comes  to  tender 
His  duty  t'ye ; — to  you  his  love,  fair  mistress. 

Men.  I  would  I  could  as" easily  remove 
Sadness  from  your  remembrance,  sir,  as  study 
To  do  you  faithful  service. — My  dear  cousin, 
All  best  of  comforts  bless  your  sweet  obedience  ! 

Cleo.  One  chief  of  'em,  my  worthy  cousin,  lives 
In  you  and  your  well-doing. 

Mm.  This  young  stranger 

Will  well  deserve  your  knowledge. 

Amet.  For  my  friend's  sake, 

Lady,  pray  give  him  welcome. 

Cleo.  He  has  met  it, 

If  sorrows  can  look  kindly. 

Par.  You  much  honour  me. 

Rhe.   \Aside\    How  he  eyes  the  company !    sure  my 
passion  will  betray  my  weakness. — O  my  master,  my  noble 
master,  do  not  forget  me ;  I  am  still  the  humblest  and 
the  most  faithful  in  heart  of  those  that  serve  you. 
*  Mel.  Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

Rhe.  [Aside]    There's  wormwood  in  that  laughter ;  'tis 
the  usher  to  a  violent  extremity. 

Mel.  I  am  a  weak  old  man.     All  these  are  come 
To  jeer  my  ripe  calamities. 

Men.  Good  uncle  ! 

Mel.  But  I'll  outstare  ye  all :  fools,,  desperate  fools  ! 
You're  cheated,  grossly  cheated ;  range,  range  on, 
And  roll  about  the  world  to  gather  moss, 
The  moss  of  honour,  gay  reports,  gay  clothes, 
Gay  wives,  huge  empty  buildings,  whose  proud  roofs 
Shall  with  their  pinnacles  even  reach  the  stars. 
Ye  work  and  work  like  moles,  blind  in  the  paths 
That  are  bored  through  the  crannies  of  the  earth, 
To  charge  your  hungry  souls  with  such  full  surfeits 
As  being  gorged  once,  make  ye  lean  with  plenty  ; 
And  when  ye've  skimmed  the  vomit  of  your  riots, 
Ye're  fat  in  no  felicity  but  folly : 


SCENE  II.]   THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.  39 

Then  your  last  sleeps  seize  on  ye ;  then  the  troops 

Of  worms  crawl  round  and  feast ;  good  cheer,  rich  fare, 

Dainty,  delicious  ! — Here's  Cleophila ; 

All  the  poor  stock  of  my  remaining  thrift : 

You,  you,  the  prince's  cousin,  how  d'ye  like  her  ? 

Amethus,  how  d'ye  like  her  ? 

A  met.  My  intents 

Are  just  and  honourable. 

Men.  Sir,  believe  him. 

Mel.  Take  her. — We  two  must  part ;  go  to  him  do. 

Par.  This  sight  is  full  of  horror. 

Rhe.  There  is  sense  yet 

In  this  distraction. 

Mel.  In  this  jewel  I  have  given  away 
All  what  I  can  call  mine.     When  I  am  dead, 
Save  charge ;  let  me  buried  in  a  nook  : 
No  guns,  no  pompous  whining  ;  these  are  fooleries. 
If,  whiles  we  live,  we  stalk  about  the  streets 
Jostled  by  carmen,  footposts,  and  fine  apes 
In  silken  coats,  unminded  and  scarce  thought  o» 
It  is  not  comely  to  be  haled  to  the  earth, 
Like  high-fed  jades  upon  a  tilting-day, 
In  antic  trappings.     Scorn  to  useless  tears  ! 
Eroclea  was  not  coffined  so  ;  she  perished, 
And  no  eye  dropped  save  mine — and  I  am  childish : 
I  talk  like  one  that  dotes  :  laugh  at  me,  Rhetias, 
Or  rail  at  me.     They  will  not  give  me  meat, 
They've  starved  me;  but   I'll  henceforth  be  mine  own 

cook. 

Good  morrow  !  'tis  too  early  for  my  cares 
To  revel ;  I  will  break  my  heart  a  little, 
And  tell  ye  more  hereafter.     Pray  be  merry,  [Exit. 

Rlie.  I'll  follow  him. — My  Lord  Amethus,  use  your 
time  respectively  :  few  words  to  purpose  soonest  prevail : 
study  no  long  orations ;  be  plain  and  short. — I'll  follow 
him.  [Exit. 

Amct.  Cleophila,  although  these  blacker  clouds 


40  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA NCHOL  Y.      [AC  r  n. 

Of  sadness  thicken  and  make  dark  the  sky 
Of  thy  fair  eyes,  yet  give  me  leave  to  follow 
The  stream  of>my  affections  :  they  are  pure, 
Without  all  mixture  of  unnoble  thoughts. 
Can  you  be  ever  mine  ? 

Cleo.  I  am  so  low 

In  mine  own  fortunes  and  my  father's  woes, 
That  I  want  words  to  tell  ye  you  deserve 
A  worthier  choice. 

Amet.  But  give  me  leave  to  hope. 

Men.  My  friend  is  serious. 

Cleo.  Sir,  this  for  answer.       If  I  ever  thrive 
In  any  earthly  happiness,  the  next 
To  my  good  father's  wished  recovery 
Must  be  my  thankfulness  to  your  great  merit, 
Which  I  dare  promise  :  for  the  present  time 
You  cannot  urge  more  from  me. 

Mel.  [  IVWiin]  Ho,  Cleophila  ! 

Cleo.  This  gentleman  is  moved. 

dinet.  Your  eyes,  Parthenophil, 

Are  guilty  of  some  passion.1 

Men.  Friend,  what  ails  thee  ? 

Par.  All  is  not  well  within  me,  sir. 

Mel.  [U'it/iin\  Cleophila! 

Amet.  Sweet  maid,  forget  me  not ;  we  now  must  part. 

Cleo.  Still  you  shall  have  my  prayer. 

Amet.      '  Still  you  my  truth. 

\_ExcunL 
1  Grief. 


ACT   THE   THIRD. 

SCENE  1. — A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enttr  CUCULUS  <Z//^/GRILLA;  the  former  in  a  black  velvet 
cap  and  a  white  feather,  with  a  paper  in  his  hand. 

UC.    Do  not  I  look  freshly,  and  like  a 
youth  of  the  trim  ? 

Gril.  As  rare  an  old  youth  as  ever 
walked  cross-gartered. 

Cue.  Here  are  my  mistresses  mustered 
in  white  and  black.  \Rcads\  "  Kala,  the 
waiting-woman  " — I  will  first  begin  at  the  foot :  stand 
thou  for  Kala. 

Gril.  I  stand  for  Kala ;  do  your  best  and  your  worst. 
Cue.   I  must  look  big,  and  care  little  or  nothing  for 
her,  because  she  is  a  creature  that  stands  at  livery.    Thus 
I  talk  wisely,  and  to  no  purpose: — Wench,  as  it  is  not  fit 
that  thou  shouldst  be  either  fair  or  honest,  so,  considering 
thy  service,  thou  art  as  thou  art,  and  so  are  thy  betters, 
let  them  be  what  they  can  be.     Thus,  in  despite  and 
defiance  of  all  thy  good  parts,  if  I  cannot  endure  thy 
baseness,  'tis  more  out  of  thy  courtesy  than  my  deserving ; 
and  so  I  expect  thy  answer. 
Gril.   I  must  confess — 
Cue.  Well  said. 

Gril.  You  are — 

Cue.  That's  true  too. 

Gril.  To  speak  you  right,  a  very  scurvy  fellow. 
Cue,  Away,  away  ! — dost  think  so  ? 
Gril.  A  very  foul-mouthed  and  misshapen  coxcomb. 
Cue.   I'll  never  believe  it,  by  this  hand. 


42  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELANCHOL  Y.     [ACT  in. 

Gril.  A  maggot,  most  unworthy  to  creep  in 
To  the  least  wrinkle  of  a  gentlewoman's — 
What  d'ye  call — good  conceit,  or  so,  or  what 
You  will  else, — were  you  not  refined  by  courtship 
And  education,  which  in  my  blear  eyes 
Makes  you  appear  as  sweet  as  any  nosegay, 
Or  savoury  cod  of  musk  new  fall'n  from  the  cat. 

C^lc,  This  shall  serve  well  enough  for  the  waiting- 
woman.  My  next  mistress  is  Cleophila,  the  old  mad 
man's  daughter.  I  must  come  to  her  in  whining  tune; 
sigh,  wipe  mine  eyes,  fold  my  arms,  and  blubber  out  my 
speech  as  thus  : — Even  as  a  kennel  of  hounds,  sweet  lady, 
cannot  catch  a  hare  when  they  are  full-paunched  on  the 
carrion  of  a  dead  horse;  so,  even  so,  the  gorge  of  my 
affections  being  full-crammed  with  the  garboils1  of  your 
condolements  doth  tickle  me  with  the  prick,  as  it  were, 
about  me,  and  fellow-feeling  of  howling  outright. 

Gril.  This  will  do't,  if  we  will  hear. 

Cue.  Thou  seest  I  am  crying  ripe,  I  am  such  another 
tender-hearted  fool. 

Gril.  Even  as  the  snuff  of  a  candle  that  is  burnt  in  the 
socket  goes  out,  and  leaves  a  strong  perfume  behind  it ; 
or  as  a  piece  of  toasted  cheese  next  the  heart  in  a  morn 
ing  is  a  restorative  for  a  sweet  breath ;  so,  even  so,  the 
odoriferous  savour  of  your  love  doth  perfume  my  heart — 
heigh-ho  ! — with  the  pure  scent  of  an  intolerable  content, 
and  not  to  be  endured. 

Cue.  By  this  hand,  'tis  excellent !  Have  at  thee,  last 
of  all,  for  the  Princess  Thamasta,  she  that  is  my  mistress 
indeed.  She  is  abominably  proud,  a  lady  of  a  damnable 
high,  turbulent,  and  generous  spirit :  but  I  have  a  loud 
mouthed  cannon  of  mine  own  to  batter  her,  and  a  penned 
speech  of  purpose  :  observe  it. 

Gril.  Thus  I  walk  by,  hear,  and  mind  yoft  not. 

Cue.   \Reads\  "  Though  haughty  as  the  devil  or  his  dam 
Thou  dost  appqar,  great  mistress,  yet  I  am 
1  Tumult. 


SCENE  I.]    THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.  43 

Like  to  an  ugly  firework,  and  can  mount 
Above  the  region  of  thy  sweet  ac — count. 
Wert  thou  the  moon  herself,  yet  having  seen  thee, 
Behold  the  man  ordained  to  move  within  thee." 
Look  to  yourself,  housewife  !  answer  me  in  strong  lines, 
you're  best. 

Gril.  Keep  off,  poor  fool,  my  beams  will  strike  thee 

blind ; 

Else,  if  thou  touch  me,  touch  me  but  behind. 
In  palaces,  such  as  pass  in  before 
Must  be  great  princes  ;  for  at  the  back-door 
Tatterdemalions  wait,  who  know  not  how 
To  get  admittance  ;  such  a  one — art  thou. 
Cue.  'Sfoot,  this  is  downright  roaring. 
Gril.  I  know  how  to  present  a  big  lady  in  her   own 
cue.     But,  pray,   in  earnest,  are  you  in   love   with   all 
these  ? 

Cue.  Pish !  I  have  not  a  rag  of  love  about  me ;  'tis 
only  a  foolish  humour  I  am  possessed  with,  to  be  sur- 
named  the  conqueror.  I  will  court  anything;  be  in  love 
with  nothing,  nor  no — thing. 

Gril.  A  rare  man  you  are,  I  protest. 
Cue.  Yes,  I  know  I  am  a  rare  man,  and  I  ever  held 
myself  so. 

Enter  PELIAS  and  CORAX. 

Pel.  In  amorous  contemplation,  on  my  life  ; 
Courting  his  page,  by  Helicon  ! 

Cue.  Tis  false. 

Gril.  A  gross  untruth;  I'll  justify  it,  sir, 
At  any  time,  place,  weapon. 

Cue.  Marry,  shall  she. 

Cor.  No  quarrels,  Goody  Whisk  !  lay-by  your  trum 
peries,  and  fall-to  your  practice.  Instructions  are  ready 
for  you  all.  Pelias  is  your  leader ;  follow  him  :  get 
credit  now  or  never.  Vanish,  doodles,  vanish ! 

1  The  quarrelsome  language  of  the  bullies  of  the  day. 


44  THE  L O  VER '  S  MELA  NCHOL  Y.     [ACT  in. 

Cjti.  For  the  device  ?    , 

Cor.  The  same ;  get  ye  gone,  and  make  no  bawling. 

[£xeu/it  all  but  CORAX. 

To  waste  my  time  thus,  drone-like,  in  the  court, 
And  lose  so  many  hours  as  my  studies 
Have  hoarded  up,  is  to  be  like  a  man 
That  creeps  both  on  his  hands  and  knees  to  climb 
A  mountain's  top  ;  where,  when  he  is  ascended, 
One  careless  slip  down-tumbles  him  again 
Into  the  bottom,  whence  he  first  began. 
I  need  no  prince's  favour  ;  princes  need 
My  art :  then,  Corax,  be  no  more  a  gull ; 
The  best  of  'em  cannot  fool  thee,  nay,  they  shall  not. 

Enter  SOPHRONOS  and  ARETUS. 

Soph.  We  find  him  timely  now ;  let's  learn  the  cause. 

Arc.  'Tis  fit  we  should. — Sir,  we  approve  you  learned. 
And,  since  your  skill  can  best  discern  the  humours 
That  are  predominant  in  bodies  subject 
To  alteration,  tell  us,  pray,  what  devil 
This  Melancholy  is,  which  can  transform 
Men  into  monsters. 

Cor.  You're  yourself  a  scholar, 

And  quick  of  apprehension.     Melancholy 
Is  not,  as  you  conceive,  indisposition 
Of  body,  but  the  mind's  disease.     So  Ecstasy, 
Fantastic  Dotage,  Madness,  Frenzy,  Rapture 
Of  mere  imagination,  differ  partly 
From  Melancholy ; l  which  is  briefly  this, 
A  mere  commotion  of  the  mind,  o'ercharged 
With  fear  and  sorrow ;  first  begot  i'  the  brain, 
The  seat  of  reason,  and  from  thence  derived 
As  suddenly  into  the  heart,  the  scat 
Of  our  affection. 

1  Vide  (Ford  says)  Democritus  Junior.  He  is  alluding  to  Burton's 
Anatomy  of  Melancholy. 


SCEN E  1 1.]    THE  LOVER'S  MELA NCHOL Y.  45 

Are,  There  are  sundry  kinds 

Of  this  disturbance  ? 

Cor.  Infinite  :  it  were 

More  easy  to  conjecture  every  hour 
We  have  to  live  than  reckon  up  the  kinds 
Or  causes  of  this  anguish  of  the  mind. 

Soph.  Thus  you  conclude  that,  as  the  cause  is  doubtful, 
The  cure  must  be  impossible ;  and  then 
Our  prince,  poor  gentleman,  is  lost  for  ever 
As  well  unto  himself  as  to  his  subjects. 

Cor.  My  lord,  you  are  too  quick  :  thus  much  I  dare 
Promise  and  do ;  ere  many  minutes  pass 
I  will  discover  whence  his  sadness  is, 
Or  undergo  the  censure  of  my  ignorance. 

Arc.  You  are  a  noble  scholar. 

Soph.  For  reward 

You  shall  make  your  own  demand. 

Cor.  May  I  be  sure  ? 

Are.  We  both  will  pledge  our  truth. 

Cor.  Tis  soon  performed  : 

That  I  may  be  discharged  from  my  attendance 
At  court,  and  never  more  be  sent  for  after ; 
Or — if  I  be,  may  rats  gnaw  all  my  books, 
If  I  get  home  once,  and  come  here  again  ! 
Though  my  neck  stretch  a  halter  for't,  I  care  not. 

Soph.  Come,  come,  you  shall  not  fear  it. 

Cor.  I'll  acquaint  ye 

With  what  is  to  be  done ;  and  you  shall  fashion  it. 

{Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.— A  Room  in  TIIAMASTA'S  House. 

Enter  K.ALA  and  PARTHF.NOPHIL. 

Kal.   My  lady  does  expect  ye,  thinks  all  time 
Too  slow  till  you  come  to  her:  wherefore,  young  man, 


46  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA  NCHOL  Y. 

If  you  intend  to  love  me,  and  me  only, 
Before  we  part,  without  more  circumstance, 
Let  us  betroth  ourselves. 

Par.  I  dare  not  wrong  ye  ; — 

You  are  too  violent. 

Kal.  Wrong  me  no  more 

Than  I  wrong  you  ;  be  mine,  and  I  am  yours  : 
I  cannot  stand  on  points. 

Par.  Then,  to  resolve 

All  further  hopes,  you  never  can  be  mine, 
Must  not,  and — pardon  though  I  say— you  shall  not. 

Kal.  [Aside].  The  thing  is  sure  a  gelding.— Shall  not ! 

Well, 

You're  best  to  prate  unto  my  lady  now, 
What  proffer  I  have  made. 

Par.  Never,  I  vow. 

Kal.  Do,  do  !  'tis  but  a  kind  heart  of  mine  own, 
And  ill  luck  can  undo  me. — Be  refused  F 
O  scurvy  ! — Pray  walk  on,  I'll  overtake  ye. 

[Exit  PARTHENOPHIL. 
What  a  green-sickness-livered  boy  is  this  ! 
My  maidenhead  will  shortly  grow  so  stale 
That  'twill  be  mouldy :— but  I'll  mar  her  market. 

Enter  MENAPHON. 

Men.  Parthenophil  passed  this  way  :  prithee,  Kala, 
Direct  me  to  him. 

Kal.  Yes,  I  can  direct  ye ; 

But  you,  sir,  must  forbear. 

Men.  Forbear  1 

Kal.  I  said  so. 

Your  bounty  has  engaged  my  truth  :  receive 
A  secret,  that  will,  as  you  are  a  man, 
Startle  your  reason ;  'tis  but  mere  respect 
Of  what  I  owe  to  thankfulness.     Dear  sir, 
The  stranger  whom  your  courtesy  received 
For  friend  is  made  your  rival. 


SCEN-E1L]    THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY          47 

Men.  Rival,  Kala ! 

Take  heed ;  thou  art  too  credulous. 

Kal.  -        My  lady 

Dotes  on  him.     I  will  place  you  in  a  room 
Where,  though  you  cannot  hear,  yet  you  shall  see 
Such  passages  as  will  confirm  the  truth 
Of  my  intelligence. 

Men.  'Twill  make  me  mad. 

Kal.  Yes,  yes. 

It  makes  me  mad  too,  that  a  gentleman 
Se  excellently  sweet,  so  liberal, 
So  kind,  so  proper,  should  be  so  betrayed 
By  a  young  smooth- chinned  straggler :    but  for  love's 

sake, 

Bear  all  with  manly  courage.     Not  a  word ; 
I  am  undone  then. 

Men.  That  were  too  much  pity  : 

Honest,  most  honest  Kala,  'tis  thy  care, 
Thy  serviceable  care. 

Kal.  You  have  even  spoken 

All  can  be  said  or  thought. 

Men.  I  will  reward  thee : 

But  as  for  him,  Ungentle  boy,  I'll  whip 
Mis  falsehood  with  a  vengeance. 

Kal.  O,  speak  little. 

Walk  up  these  stairs ;  and  take  this  key :  it  opens 
A  chamber-door,  where,  at  that  window  yonder, 
You  may  see  all  their  courtship. 

Men.  I  am  silent. 

Kal.  As  little  noise  as  may  be,  I  beseech  ye : 
There  is  a  back-stair  to  convey  ye  forth 
Ungeen  or  unsuspected.  [Exit  MENAPHON. 

He  that  cheats 

A  waiting-woman  of  a  free  good  turn 
She  longs  for  must  expect  a  shrewd  revenge. 
Sheep-spirited  boy  !  although  he  had  not  married  me, 
He  might  have  proffered  kindness  in  a  corner, 


48  THE  LOVER' S  MELANCHOLY.     [ACT  ni. 

And  ne'er  have  been  the  worse  for't. — They  are  come : 
On  goes  my  set  of  faces  most  demurely. 

Enter  THAMASTA  and  PARTHENOPHIL. 

Tha.  Forbear  the  room.  • 

Kal.  Yes,  madam. 

T/ta.  Whosoever 

Requires  access  to  me,  deny  him  entrance 
Till  I  call  thee ;  aud  wait  without. 

Kal.  I  shall. — 

Sweet  Venus,  turn  his  courage  to  a  snow-ball ; 
I  heartily  beseech  it !  \Aside,  and  exit. 

Tha.  I  expose 

The  honour  of  my  birth,  my  fame,  my  youth, 
To  hazard  of  much  hard  construction, 
In  seeking  an  adventure  of  a  parley, 
So  private,  with  a  stranger :  if  your  thoughts 
Censure  me  not  with  mercy,  you  may  soon 
Conceive  I  have  laid  by  that  modesty 
•Which  should  preserve  a  virtuous  name  unstained. 

Par.  Lady, — to  shorten  long  excuses, — time 
And  safe  experience  have  so  throughly  armed 
My  apprehension  with  a  real  taste 
Of  your  most  noble  nature,  that  to  question 
The  least  part  of  your  bounties,  or  that  freedom 
Which  heaven  hath  with  a  plenty  made  you  rich  in, 
Would  argue  me  uncivil ; J  which  is  more, 
Base-bred  ;  and,  which  is  most  of  all,  unthankful. 

Tha.  The  constant  loadstone  and  the  steel  are  found 
In  several  mines ;  yet  is  there  such  a  league 
Between  these  minerals  as  if  one  vein 
Of  earth  had  nourished  both.     The  gentle  myrtle 
Is  not  engraft  upon  an  olive's  stock, 
Yet  nature  hath  between  them  locked  a  secret 
Of  sympathy,  that,  being  planted  near, 
They  will,  both  in  their  branches  and  their  roots, 

1  Ignorant  of  the  language  and  manners  of  good  society. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELANCHOL  Y.  49 

Embrace  each  other :  twines  of  ivy  round 

The  well-grown  oak ;  the  vine  doth  court  the  elm  ; 

Yet  these  are  different  plants.     Parthenophil, 

Consider  this  aright ;  then  these  slight  creatures 

Will  fortify  the  reasons  I  should  frame 

For  that  ungrounded — as  thou  think'st — affection 

Which  is  submitted  to  a  stranger's  pity. 

True  love  may  blush,  when  shame  repents  too  late 

But  in  all  actions  nature  yields  to  fate. 

Par.  Great  lady,  'twere  a  dulness  must  exceed 
The  grossest  and  most  sottish  kind  of  ignorance 
Not  to  be  sensible  of  your  intents ; 
I  clearly  understand  them.     Yet  so  much 
The  difference  between  that  height  and  lowness 
Which  doth  distinguish  our  unequal  fortunes 
Dissuades  me  from  ambition,  that  I  am 
Humbler  in  my  desires  than  love's  own  power 
Can  any  way  raise  up. 

Tha.  I  am  a  princess, 

And  know  no  law  of  slavery  ;  to  sue, 
Yet  be  denied ! 

Par.  I  am  so  much  a  subject 

To  every  law  of  noble  honesty, 
That  to  transgress  the  vows  of  perfect  friendship 
I  hold  a  sacrilege  as  foul  and  cursed 
As  if  some  holy  temple  had  been  robbed, 
And  I  the  thief. 

Tha.  Thou  art  unwise,  young  man, 

T'  enrage  a  lioness. 

Par.  It  were  unjust 

To  falsify  a  faith,  and  ever  after, 
Disrobed  of  that  fair  ornament,  live  naked, 
A  scorn  to  time  and  truth. 

Tha.  .  .       Remember  well 

Who  I  am,  and  what  thou  art. 

Par.  That  remembrance 

Prompts  me  to  worthy  duty.     O.  great  lady, 

Ford.  T, 


50  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA  NCHOL  Y.    [ACT  in. 

If  some  few  days  have  tempted  your  free  heart 
To  cast  away  affection  on  a  stranger ; 
If  that  affection  have  so  overs wayed 
Your  judgment,  that  it,  in  a  manner,  hath 
Declined  your  sovereignty  of  birth  and  spirit ; 
How  can  ye  turn  your  eyes  off  from  that  glass 
Wherein  you  may  new-trim  and  settle  right 
A  memorable  name  ? 

Tha.  The  youth  is  idle.1 

Par,  Days,  months,  and  years  are  passed  since  Men- 

aphon 

Hath  loved  and  served  you  truly  ;  Menaphon, 
A  man  of  no  large  distance  in  his  blood 
From  yours  ;  in  qualities  desertful,  graced 
With  youth,  experience,  every  happy  gift 
That  can  by  nature  or  by  education 
Improve  a  gentleman :  for  him,  great  lady, 
Let  me  prevail,  that  you  will  yet  at  last 
Unlock  the  bounty  which  your  love  and  care 
Have  wisely  treasured  up,  t'enrich  his  life. 

Tha.  Thou  hast  a  moving  eloquence,  Parthenophil ! — 
Parthenophil,  in  vain  we  strive  to  cross 
The  destiny  that  guides  us.     My  great  heart 
Is  stooped  so  much  beneath  that  wonted  pride 
That  first  disguised  it,  that  I  now  prefer 
A  miserable  life  with  thee  before 
All  other  earthly  comforts. 

Par.  Menaphon, 

By  me,  repeats  the  self- same  words  to  you : 
You  are  too  cruel,  if  you  can  distrust 
His  truth  or  my  report. 

Tha.  Go  where  thou  wilt, 

I'll  be  an  exile  with  thee  ;  I  will  learn 
To  bear  all  change  of  fortunes. 

Par.  For  my  friend 

I  plead  with  grounds  of  reason. 

i  i.e.  Talks  idly. 


SCENE  IL]     THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.  51 

Tha.  For  thy  love, 

Hard-hearted  youth,  I  here  renounce  all  thoughts 
Of  other  hopes,  of  other  entertainments, — 

Par.  Stay,  as  you  honour  virtue. 

TJia.  When  the  proffers 

Of  other  greatness, — 

Par.  Lady ! 

Tha.  When  entreats 

Of  friends, — 

Par.  I'll  ease  your  grief. 

Tha.  Respect  of  kindred, — 

Par.  Pray,  give  me  hearing. 

Tha.  Loss  of  fame, — 

Par.  I  crave 

But  some  few  minutes. 

Tha.  Shall  infringe  my  vows, 

Let  heaven, — 

Par.  My  love  speaks  t'ye :  hear,  then  go  on. 

Tha.  Thy  love !  why,  'tis  a  charm  to  stop  a  vow 
In  its  most  violent  course. 

Par.  Cupid  has  broke 

His  arrows  here  ;  and,  like  a  child  unarmed, 
Comes  to  make  sport  between  us  with  no  weapon 
But  feathers  stolen  from  his  mother's  doves. 

Tha.  This  is  mere  trifling. 

Par.  Lady,  take  a  secret. 

I  am  as  you  are — in  a  lower  rank, 
Else  of  the  self- same  sex — a  maid,  a  virgin. 
And  now,  to  use  your  own  words,  "  if  your  thoughts 
Censure  me  not  with  mercy,  you  may  soon 
Conceive  I  have  laid  by  that  modesty 
Which  should  preserve  a  virtuous  name  unstained." 

Tha.  Are  you  not  mankind,  then  ? 

Par.  When  you  shall  read 

The  story  of  my  sorrows,  with  the  change 
Of  my  misfortunes,  in  a  letter  printed  1 

1  ;l  Printed  "  was  used  in  the  iensc  merely  of  "  recorded." 


52  THE  LOVER' S  MELANCHOLY.    [ACT  in. 

From  my  unforged  relation,  I  believe 
You  will  not  think  the  shedding  of  one  tear 
A  prodigality  that  misbecomes 
Your  pity  and  my  fortune. 

Tha.  Pray,  conceal 

The  errors  of  my  passion. 

Par.  Would  I  had 

Much  more  of  honour — as  for  life,  I  value't  not — 
To  venture  on  your  secrecy ! 

Tha.  It  will  be 

A  hard  task  for  my  reason  to  relinquish 
The  affection  which  was  once  devoted  thine 
I  shall  awhile  repute  thee  still  the  youth 
I  loved  so  dearly. 

Par.  You  shall  find  me  ever 

Your  ready  faithful  servant. 

Tha.  O,  the  powers 

Who  do  direct  our  hearts  laugh  at  our  follies  ! 
We  must  not  part  yet. 

Par.  Let  not  my  unworthiness 

Alter  your  good  opinion. 

Tha.  I  shall  henceforth 

Be  jealous  of  thy  company  with  any : 
My  fears  are  strong  and  many. 

Re-enter  KALA. 

Kal.  Did  your  ladyship 

Call  me  ? 

Tha.        For  what? 

Kal.  Your  servant  Menaphon 

Desires  admittance. 

Enter  MENAPHON. 

Men.  With  your  leave,  great  mistress, 

I  come, — So  private  !  is  this  well,  Parthenophil  ? 

Par.  Sir,  noble  sir, — 

Men.  You  are  unkind  and  treacherous ; 

This  'tis  to  trust  a  straggler  ! 


SCENE  II.]   THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA NCHOL  Y.  53 

Tha.  Prithee,  servant, — 

Men.  I  dare  not  question  you ;  you  are  my  mistress, 
My  prince's  nearest  kinswoman :  but  he — 

Tha.  Come,  you  are  angry. 

Men.  Henceforth  I  will  bury 

Unmanly  passion  in  perpetual  silence  : 
I'll  court  mine  own  distraction,  dote  on  folly, 
Creep  to  the  mirth  and  madness  of  the  age, 
Rather  than  be  so  slaved  again  to  woman, 
Which  in  her  best  of  constancy  is  steadiest 
In  change  and  scorn. 

Tha.  How  dare  ye  talk  to  me  thus  ? 

Men.  Dare  !     Were  you  not  own  sister  to  my  friend, 
Sister  to  my  Amethus,  I  would  hurl  ye 
As  far  off  from  mine  eyes  as  from  my  heart ; 
For  I  would  never  more  look  on  ye.     Take 
Your  jewel  t'ye  ! — And,  youth,  keep  under  wing, 
Or — boy  ! — boy ! — 

Tha.  If  commands  be  of  no  force, 

Let  me  entreat  thee,  Menaphon. 

Men.  'Tis  naught. 

Fie,  fie,  Parthenophil !  have  I  deserved 
To  be  thus  used  ? 

Par.  I  do  protest — 

Men.  You  shall  not : 

Henceforth  I  will  be  free,  and  hate  my  bondage. 

Enter  AMETHUS. 

Amet.  Away,  away  to  court !  The  prince  is  pleased 
To  see  a  masque  to-night ;  we  must  attend  him  : 
'Tis  near  upon  the  time. — How  thrives  your  suit  ? 

Men.  The  judge,  your  sister,  will  decide  it  shortly. 

Tha.  Parthenophil,  I  will  not  trust  you  from  me. 

\\Exeunf. 


54  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA NCHOL  Y.     [ACT  ill. 

SCENE  III.—  A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter   PALADOR,   SOPHRONOS,  ARETUS,   and   CORAX  ; 
Servants  with  torcJies. 

Cor.  Lights  and  attendance  ! — I  will  show  your  high 
ness 

A  trifle  of  mine  own  brain.     If  you  can, 
Imagine  you  were  now  in  the  university, 
You'll  take  it  well  enough  ;  a  scholar's  fancy, 
A  quab — 'tis  nothing  else — a  very  quab.1 

Pal.  We  will  observe  it. 

Soph.  Yes,  and  grace  it  too,  sir, 

For  Corax  else  is  humorous  and  testy. 

Are.  By  any  means ;  men  singular  in  art 
Have  always  some  odd  whimsey  more  than  usual. 

Pal.  The  name  of  this  conceit  ? 

Cor.  Sir,  it  is  called 

The  Masque  of  Melancholy.2 

Are.  We  must  look  for 

Nothing  but  sadness  here,  then. 

Cor.  Madness  rather 

In  several  changes.     Melancholy  is 
The  root  as  well  of  every  apish  frenzy, 
La.ughter,  and  mirth,  as  dulness.     Pray,  my  lord, 
Hold,  and  observe  the  plot  [Gives  PALADOR  a  paper\  : 

'tis  there  expressed 
In  kind,  what  shall  be  now  expressed  in  action. 

1  An  unfledged  bird,  a  nestling  :  metaphorically,  anything  in  an 
imperfect,  unfinished  state.     In  the  first  sense  the  word  is  still  used 
in  that  part  of  Devonshire  where  Ford  was  born,  and  perhaps  in 
many  other  places. — It  is  undoubtedly  (among  other  things)  a  small 
fish  of  some  kind  ;  but  I  have  given  it  a  meaning  more  familiar  to 
me,  as  I  am  persuaded  it  was  to  Ford. — Gifford. 

2  Ford  has  here  introduced  one  of  those  interludes  in  which  the 
old  stage   so   much   delighted.     The   variolas   characters  of  these 
"apish  frenzies,"  as  he  calls  them,  he  has  taken  from  Burton's 
Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  the  book  to  which  he  refers  in  a  former 
scene.    He  cannot  be  said  to  have  improved  what  he  has  borrowed, 
which,  on  the  contrary,  reads  better  in  Burton's  pages  than  his  own. 
— Gifford. 


SCENE  in.]   THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.          55 
Enter  AMETHUS,  MENAPHON,  THAMASTA,  and  PAR- 

THENOPHIL. 

No  interruption  ;  take  your  places  quickly ; 

Nay,  nay,  leave  ceremony. — Sound  to  the  entrance ! 

[Flourish. 

Enter  RHETIAS,  his  face  whited,  with  black  shag  hair 
and  long  nails,  and  with  a  piece  of  raw  meat. 

Rhe.  Bow,  bow!  wow,  wow  !  the  moon's  eclipsed;  I'll 
to  the  churchyard  and  sup.  Since  I  turned  wolf,  I  bark, 
and  howl,  and  dig  up  graves  :  I  will  never  have  the  sun 
shine  again :  'tis  midnight,  deep  dark  midnight, — get  a 
prey,  and  fall  to — I  have  catched  thee  now — Arre  !  — 

Cor.  This  kind  is  called  Lycanthropia,  sir ;  when  men 
conceive  themselves  wolves.1 

Pal.  Here  I  find  it.  [Looking  at  the  paper. 

Enter  PELIAS,  with  a  crown  of  feathers  and  anticly  rich. 

Pel.  I  will  hang  'em  all,  and  burn  my  wife.  Was  I  not 
an  emperor  ?  my  hand  was  kissed,  and  ladies  lay  down 
before  me  ;  in  triumph  did  I  ride  with  my  nobles  about  me 
till  the  mad  dog  bit  me  :  I  fell,  and  I  fell,  and  I  fell.  It 
shall  be  treason  by  statute  for  any  man  to  name  water,  or 
wash  his  hands,  throughout  all  my  dominions.  Break  all 
the  looking-glasses  ;  I  will  not  see  my  horns  :  my  wife 
cuckolds  me  ;  she  is  a  whore,  a  whore,  a  whore,  a  whore  ! 

Pal.  Hydrophobia2  term  you  this  ? 

Cor.  And  men  possessed  so  shun  all  sight  of  water : 
Sometimes,  if  mixed  with  jealousy,  it  renders  them 
Incurable,  and  oftentimes  brings  death. 

1  "  Lycanthropia,  which  Avicenna  calls  Cucubuth,  others  Lupi- 
nam   insaniam  or  Wolf-madness,  when   men  run  howling  about 
graves  and  fields  in  the  night,  and  will  not  be  perswaded  but  that 
they  are  Wolves,  or  some  such  beasts,"  &c. — Anat.  of  Mel. 

2  Hydrophobia  is  a  kind  of  madness,  well  known  in  every  village, 
which  comes  by  the  biting  of  a  mad  dog,  or  scratching,  saith  Aure- 
lianus;  touching,  or  smelling  alone  sometimes,  as  Sckenkius  proves 
....  so  called,  because  the  parties  affected  cannot  endure  the  sight 
of  water,  or  any  liquor,  supposing  still  they  see  a  mad  dog  in  it. 
And  which  is  more  wonderful,  though  they  be  very  dry  (as  in  this 
malady  they  are),  they  will  rather  dye  than  drink." — Anat.  of  Mel. 


56  THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.    [ACT  m. 

Enter  a  Philosopher  in  black  rags,  with  a  copper  chain, 
an  old  gown  half  off,  and  a  book. 

Phi.  Philosophers  dwell  in  the  moon.  Speculation  and 
theory  girdle  the  world  about  like  a  wall.  Ignorance,  like 
an  atheist,  must  be  damned  in  the  pit.  I  am  very,  very 
poor,  and  poverty  is  the  physic  for  the  soul :  my  opinions 
are  pure  and  perfect.  Envy  is  a  monster,  and  I  defy  the 
beast. 

Cor.  Delirium  this  is  called,  which  is  mere  dotage,1 
Sprung  from  ambition  first  and  singularity, 
Self-love,  and  blind  opinion  of  true  merit. 

Pal.  I  not  dislike  the  course. 

Enter  GRILLA,  in  a  rich  gown,  a  great  farthingale,  a  great 
ruff,  a  muff,  a  fan,  and  a  coxcomb 2  on  her  head. 

Gril.  Yes  forsooth,  and  no  forsooth  ;  is  not  this  fine  ?  I 
pray  your  blessing,  gaffer.  Here,  here,  here — did  he  give 
me  a  shough,3  and  cut  off' s  tail !  Buss,  buss,  nuncle,  and 
there's  a  pum  for  daddy. 

Cor.  You  find  this  noted  there  phrenitis.* 

Pal.  True. 

Cor.  Pride  is  the  ground  on't ;  it  reigns  most  in  women. 

1  "  Dotage,  Fatuity,  or  Folly,  is  a  common  name  to  all  the  fol 
lowing  species,  as  some  will  have  it.     Laurentius  and  Altomarus 
comprehended  Madness,  Melancholy,  and  the  rest  under  this  name, 
and  call  it  the  summum  genus  of  them  all.     If  it  be  distinguished 
from  them,  it  is  natural  or  ingenite,  which  comes  by  some  defect  of 
the  organs,  and  over-much  brain,  as  we  see  in  our  common  fools  ; 
and  is  for  the  most  part  intended  or  remitted  in  particular  men,  and 
thereupon  some  are  wiser  than  other ;  or  else  it  is  acquisite,  an 
appendix  or  symptome  of  some  other  disease,  which  comes  or  goes ; 
or  if  it  continue,  a  sign  of  Melancholy  itself." — Anat.  of  Mel. 

2  A  fool's  cap.  3  A  shock-dog,  a  water  spaniel. 

4  "Phrenitis,  which  the  Greeks  derive  from  the  word  Qpijv,  is  a 
disease  of  the  mind,  with  a  continual  madness  or  dotage,  which  hath 
an  acute  fever  annexed,  or  else  an  inflammation  of  the  brain,  or  the 
membranes  or  kells  of  it,  with  an  acute  feaver,  which  causeth  mad 
ness  and  dotage.  It  differs  from  Melancholy  and  Madness,  because 
their  dotage  is  without  an  ague :  this  continual,  with  waking,  or 
memory  decayed,  &c.  Melancholy  is  most  part  silent,  this  clamor 
ous;  and  many  such  like  differences  are  assigned  by  physitians." — 
Anat.  of  Mel. 


SCENE  III.]   THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.          57 

Enter  CUCULUS  like  a  Bedlam,  singing. 

Cue.  They  that  will  learn  to  drink  a  health  in  hell 
Must  learn  on  earth  to  take  tobacco  well, 
To  take  tobacco  well,  to  take  tobacco  well ; 
For  in  hell  they  drink  nor  wine  nor  ale  nor  beer, 
But  fire  and  smoke  and  stench,  as  we  do  here. 
Rhe.  I'll  swoop  thee  up. 

Pel.  Thou'st  straight  to  execution. 

Gril.  Fool,  fool,  fool !  catch  me  an  thou  canst. 
Phi.  Expel  him  the  house  ;  'tis  a  dunce. 
Cue.  \_Sings~\ 

Hark  !  did  ye  not  hear  a  rumbling? 

The  goblins  are  now  a  tumbling : 

I'll  tear  'em,  I'll  sear  'em, 

I'll  roar  'em,  I'll  gore  'em  ! 

Now,    now,    now !    my    brains   are    a 

jumbling, — 
Bounce  !  the  gun's  off. 

Pal.  You  name  this  here  hypochondriacal  ? 1 
Cor.  Which  is  a  windy  flatuous  humour,  stuffing 
The  head,  and  thence  derived  to  the  animal  parts. 
To  be  too  over-curious,  loss  of  goods 
Or  friends,  excess  of  fear,  or  sorrows  cause  it. 

Enter  a  Sea-Nymph  big-bellied,  singing  and  dancing. 

Nymph.  Good  your  honours, 

Pray  your  worships, 

Dear  your  beauties, — 
Cue.          Hang  thee  ! 

To  lash  your  sides, 

To  tame  your  hides, 

To  scourge  your  prides  ; 

And  bang  thee. 
Nymph.  We're  pretty  and  dainty,  and  I  will  begin  : 

See,   how  they  do  jeer  me,  deride   me,   and 
grin  ! 

1  "  The  third  [species  of  melancholy]  ariseth  from  the  bowels, 
liver,  spleen,  or  membrane  called  mesenterium,  named  Hypochon 
driacal  or  windy  Melancholy,"  &c. — Anat.  of  Mel. 


58  THE  L  O  VER'S  MELA  NCHOL  Y.     [ACT  ill. 

Come  sport  me,  come  court  me,  your  topsail 

advance, 

And  let  us  conclude  our  delights  in  a  dance  ! 
All.  A  dance,  a  dance,  a  dance  ! 

Cor.  This  is  the  Wanton  Melancholy.  Women 
With  child,  possessed  with  this  strange  fury,  often 
Have  danced  three  days  together  without  ceasing.1 

Pal.  'Tis  very  strange :  but  Heaven  is  full  of  miracles. 

[A  Dance,  after  which  the  Masquers  run  out  in  couples. 

We  are  thy  debtor,  Corax,  for  the  gift 

Of  this  invention ;  but  the  plot  deceives  us : 

What  means  this  empty  space  ?  [Pointing  to  the  paper. 

Cor.  „  One  kind  of  Melancholy 

Is  only  left  untouched  :  'twas  not  in  art 
To  personate  the  shadow  of  that  fancy ; 
'Tis  named  Love-Melancholy.     As,  for  instance, 
Admit  this  stranger  here, — young  man,  stand  forth — 

[To  PARTHENOPHIL. 
.  Entangled  by  the  beauty  of  this  lady, 
The  great  Thamasta,  cherished  in  his  heart 
The  weight  of  hopes  and  fears  ;  it  were  impossible 
To  limn  his  passions  in  such  lively  colours 
As  his  own  proper  sufferance  could  express. 

Par.  You  are  not  modest,  sir. 

Tha.  Am  I  your  mirth  ? 

Cor.  Love  is  the  tyrant  of  the  heart ;  it  darkens 
Reason,  confounds  discretion  ;  deaf  to  counsel, 
It  runs  a  headlong  course  to  desperate  madness. 

1  "  Chorus  Sancti  Viti,  or  S.  Vitus'  dance;  the  lascivious  dance 
Paracelsus  calls  it,  because  they  that  are  taken  with  it  can  do  nothing 
but  dance  till  they  be  dead  or  cured.  It  is  so  called,  for  that  the 
parties  s?  troubled  were  wont  to  go  to  S.  Vitus  for  help,  and  after 
they  had  danced  there  a  while,  they  were  certainly  freed.  'Tis 
strange  to  hear  how  long  they  will  dance,  and  in  what  manner,  over 
stools,  forms,  tables  ;  even  great-bellied  women  .sometimes  (ami  yet 
never  hurt  their  children)  will  dance  so  long  that  they  can  stir  neither 
hand  nor  foot,  but  seem  to  be  quite  dead." — A-nat.  of  Mel. 


SCENE  Hi.]    THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA NCHOL  Y.         59 

O,  were  your  highness  but  touched  home  and  throughly 
With  this — what  shall  I  call  it — devil — 

Pal.  Hold ! 

Let  no  man  henceforth  name  the  word  again. — 
Wrait  you  my  pleasure,  youth. — Tis  late  ;  to  rest !  \Exit. 

Cor.  My  lords, — 

Soph.  Enough  ;  thou  art  a  perfect  arts-man. 

Cor.  Panthers  may  hide  their  heads,  not  change  the 

skin  ; 
And  love  pent  ne'er  so  close,  yet  will  be  seen.     \Exeunt. 


Amet. 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 
SCENE  I.—  A  Room  in  THAMASTA'S  House. 

Enter  AMETHUS  and  MENAPHON. 

MET.  Dote  on  a  stranger  ? 

Men.  Court  him  ;  plead,  and  sue 

to  him. 

Amet.  Affectionately  ? 
Men.  Servilely ;  and  pardon  me 

If  I  say  basely. 

Women,  in  their  passions, 


Like  false  fires,  flash,  to  fright  our  trembling  senses, 
Yet  in  themselves  contain  nor  light  nor  heat. 
My  sister  do  this  !  she,  whose  pride  did  scorn 
All  thoughts  that  were  not  busied  on  a  crown, 
To  fall  so  far  beneath  her  fortunes  now  !  — 
You  are  my  friend. 

Men.  What  I  confirm  is  truth. 

Amet.  Truth,  Menaphon  ? 

Men.  If  I  conceived  you  were 

Jealous  of  my  sincerity  and  plainness, 
Then,  sir, — 

Amet.  What  then,  sir? 

Men.  I  would  then  resolve 

You  were  as  changeable  in  vows  of  friendship 
As  is  Thamasta  in  her  choice  of  love  : 
That  sin  is  double,  running  in  a  blood, 
Which  justifies  another  being  worse. 

Amet.  My  Menaphon,  excuse  me  ;  I  grow  wild, 


SCENE  I.]     THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.  61 

And  would  not  willingly  believe  the  truth 
Of  my  dishonour :  she  shall  know  how  much 
I  am  a  debtor  to  thy  noble  goodness 
By  checking  the  contempt  her  poor  desires 
Have  sunk  her  fame  in.     Prithee  tell  me,  friend, 
How  did  the  youth  receive  her? 

Men.  With  a  coldness 

As  modest  and  as  hopeless  as  the  trust 
I  did  repose  in  him  could  wish  or  merit. 

Amet.  I  will  esteem  him  dearly. 

Enter  THAMASTA  and  KALA. 

Men.  Sir,  your  sister. 

Tha.  Servant,  I  have  employment  for  ye. 

Amet.  Hark  ye  ! 

The  mask  of  your  ambition  is  fall'n  off ; 
Your  pride  hath  stooped  to  such  an  abject  lowness, 
That  you  have  now  discovered  to  report 
Your  nakedness  in  virtue,  honours,  shame, — 

Tha.  You  are  turned  satire.^ 

Amet.  All  the  flatteries 

Of  greatness  have  exposed  ye  to  contempt. 

Tha.  This  is  mere  railing. 

Amet.  You  have  sold  your  birth 

For  lust. 

Tha.         Lust ! 

Amet.  Yes  ;  and  at  a  dear  expense 

Purchased  the  only  glories  of  a  wanton. 

Tha.  A  wanton  ! 

Amet,  Let  repentance  stop  your  mouth ; 

Learn  to  redeem  your  fault. 

Kal.  [Aside  to  MENAPHON.]         I  hope  your  tongue 
Has  not  betrayed  my  honesty. 

Men.  [Aside  to  KALA.]  Fear  nothing. 

Tha.  If,  Menaphon,  I  hitherto  have  strove 
To  keep  a  wary  guard  about  my  fame ; 
1  Satirist. 


62  THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.     [ACT  IV. 

If  I  have  used  a  woman's  skill  to  sift 
The  constancy  of  your  protested  love  ; 
You  cannot,  in  the  justice  of  your  judgment, 
Impute  that  to  a  coyness  or  neglect, 
Which  my  discretion  and  your  service  aimed 
For  noble  purposes. 

Men.  Great  mistress,  no. 

I  rather  quarrel  with  mine  own  ambition, 
That  durst  to  soar  so  high  as  to  feed  hope 
Of  any  least  desert  that  might  entitle 
My  duty  to  a  pension  from  your  favours. 

Amet.  And  therefore,  lady, — pray,  observe  him  well, — 
He  henceforth  covets  plain  equality ; 
Endeavouring  to  rank  his  fortunes  low, 
With  some  fit  partner,  whom,  without  presumption, 
Without  offence  or  danger,  he  may  cherish, 
Yes,  and  command  too,  as  a  wife, — a  wife, 
A  wife,  my  most  great  lady ! 

Kal.  \Aside\  All  will  out. 

Tha.  Now  I  perceive  the  league  of  amity, 
Which  you  have  long  between  ye  vowed  and  kept, 
Is  sacred  and  inviolable ;  secrets 
Of  every  nature  are  in  common  to  you. 
I  have  trespassed,  and  I  have  been  faulty ; 
Let  not  too  rude  a  censure  deem  me  guilty, 
Or  judge  my  error  wilful  without  pardon. 

Men.  Gracious  and  virtuous  mistress  ! 

Amet.  'Tis  a  trick ; 

There  is  no  trust  in  female  cunning,  friend. 
Let  her  first  purge  her  follies  past,  and  clear 
The  wrong  done  to  her  honour,  by  some  sure 
Apparent  testimony  of  her  constancy ; 
Or  we  will  not  believe  these  childish  plots  : 
As  you  respect  my  friendship,  lend  no  ear 
To  a  reply. — Think  on't ! 

Men.  Pray,  love  your  fame. 

\Exeunt  MENAPHON  and  AMETHUS. 


Ij'iCEXEii.]   THE  LOVER 'S  MELANCHOLY.  63 

Tha.  Gone  !  I  am  sure  awaked.     Kala,  I  find 
fou  have  not  been  so  trusty  as  the  duty 

owed  required. 

Kal.  Not  I?  I  do  protest 

|(I  have  been,  madam. 

Tha.  Be — no  matter  what, 

Jjl'm  paid  in  my  own  coin  ;  something  I  must, 
And  speedily. — So  ! — Seek  out  Cuculus  ; 
[IBid  him  attend  me  instantly. 

Kal.  That  antic ! 

((The  trim  old  youth  shall  wait  ye. 

Tha.  Wounds   may  be    mortal,    which    are    wounds 

indeed ; 
(But  no  wound's  deadly  till  our  honours  bleed.     \Exeunt. 


&&& 

SCENE  II.—  A  Room  in  the  Castle. 

Enter  RHETIAS  and  CORAX. 

Rhe.  Thou'rt  an  excellent  fellow. '  Diabolo !  O  these 
lousy  close-stool  empirics,  that  will  undertake  all  cures, 
yet  know  not  the  causes  of  any  disease  !  Dog-leeches  ! * 
By  the  four  elements,  I  honour  thee  ;  could  find  in  my 
heart  to  turn  knave,  and  be  thy  flatterer. 

Cor.  Sirrah,  'tis  pity  thou'st  not  been  a  scholar; 
Thou'rt  honest,  blunt,  and  rude  enough,  o'  conscience. 
But  for  thy  lord  now,  I  have  put  him  to't. 

Rhe.  He  chafes  hugely,  fumes  like  a  stew-pot :  is  he 
not  monstrously  overgone  in  frenzy  ? 

Cor.  Rhetias,  'tis  not  a  madness,  but  his  sorrows — 
Close-griping  grief  and  anguish  of  the  soul — 
That  torture  him  ;  he  carries  hell  on  earth 
Within  his  bosom  :  'twas  a  prince's  tyranny 
Caused  his  distraction  ;  and  a  prince's  sweetness 
Must  qualify  that  tempest  of  his  mind. 

1  Dog-doctors. 


64  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA  NCHOL  Y.    [ACT  iv. 

Rhe.  Corax,  to  praise  thy  art  were  to  assure 
The  misbelieving  world  that  the  sun  shines 
When  'tis  i'  the  full  meridian  of  his  beauty : 
No  cloud  of  black  detraction  can  eclipse 
The  light  of  thy  rare  knowledge.     Henceforth,  casting 
All  poor  disguises  off,  that  play  in  rudeness, 
Call  me  your  servant ;  only  for  the  present, 
I  wish  a  happy  blessing  to  your  labours. 
Heaven  crown  your  undertakings !  and  believe  me, 
Ere  many  hours  can  pass,  at  our  next  meeting, 
The  bonds  my  duty  owes  shall  be  full  cancelled. 

Cor.  Farewell.  \Exit  RHETIAS. 

A  shrewd-brained  whoreson ;  there  is  pith 
In  his  untoward  plainness. 

Enter  TROLLIO,  with  a  morion  J  on. 

Now,  the  news  ? 

Trol.  Worshipful  Master  Doctor,  I  have  a  great  deal  of  I 
cannot  tell  what  to  say  t'ye.  My  lord  thunders  ;  every 
word  that  comes  out  of  his  mouth  roars  like  a  cannon ; 
the  house  shook  once : — my  young  lady  dares  not  be 
seen. 

Cor.  We  will  roar  with  him,  Trollio,  if  he  roar. 

Trol.  He  has  got  a  great  poleaxe  in  his  hand,  and 
fences  it  up  and  down  the  house,  as  if  he  were  to  make 
room  for  the  pageants.  I  have  provided  me  a  morion 
for  fear  of  a  clap  on  the  coxcomb. 

Cor.  No  matter  for  the  morion ;  here's  my  cap  : 
Thus  I  will  pull  it  down,  and  thus  outstare  him. 

\He  produces  a  frightful  mask  and  headpiece. 

Trol.  [Aside]  The  physician  is  got  as  mad  as  my  lord. 
— O  brave  !  a  man  of  worship. 

Cor.  Let  him  come,  Trollio.  I  will  firk  his  trangdido, 
and  bounce  and  bounce  in  metal,  honest  Trollio. 

Trol.  [Aside]  He  vapours  like  a  tinker,  and  struts 
like  a  juggler. 

i  A  helmet. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  LOVER' S  MELANCHOLY.  65 

Mel.  [  Within}  So  ho,  so  ho  ! 

Trol.  There,  there,  there !  look  to   your  right   wor 
shipful,  look  to  yourself, 

Enter  MELEANDER  with  a  foleaxe. 

Mel.  Show  me  the  dog  whose  triple-throated  noise 
Hath  roused  a  lion  from  his  uncouth  den 
To  tear  the  cur  in  pieces. 

Cor.  {Putting  on  his  mask,  and  turning  to  MELEANDER. 

Stay  thy  paws, 
Courageous  beast ;  else,  lo,  the  Gorgon's  skull, 
That  shall  transform  thee  to  that  restless  stone 
Which  Sisyphus  rolls  up  against  the  hill, 
Whence,  tumbling  down  again,  it  with  his  weight 
Shall  crush  thy  bones  and  puff  thee  into  air. 

Mel.  Hold,  hold  thy  conquering  breath ;  'tis  stronger 

far 

Than  gunpowder  and  garlic.     If  the  fates 
Have  spun  my  thread,  and  my  spent  clue  of  life 
Be  now  untwisted,  let  us  part  like  friends. — 
Lay  up  my  weapon,  Trollio,  and  be  gone. 

Trol.  Yes,  sir,  with  all  my  heart, 

Mel.  This  friend  and  I 

Will  walk,  and  gabble  wisely. 

\Exit  TROLLIO  with  the  poleaxe. 

Cor.  I  allow 

The  motion  ;  on  !  \Takcs  off  his  mask. 

Mel.  So  politicians  thrive, 

That,  with  their  crabbed  faces  and  sly  tricks, 
Legerdemain,  ducks,  cringes,  formal  beards, 
Crisped  hairs,  and  punctual  cheats,  do  wriggle  in 
Their  heads  first,  like  a  fox,  to  rooms  of  state, 
Then  the  whole  body  follows. 

Cor.  Then  they  fill 

Lordships  ;  steal  women's  hearts ;  with  them  and  theirs 
The  world  runs  round  ;  yet  these  are  square1  men  still. 

1  Honest. 
For,],  jf 


66  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA NCHOL  Y.     [ACT  iv. 

Mel.  There  are  none  poor  but  such  as  engross  offices. 

Cor.  None    wise   but   unthrifts,    bankrupts,   beggars, 
rascals. 

Mel.  The  hangman  is  a  rare  physician. 

Cor.  \Aside~\  That's  not  so  good. — It  shall  be  granted. 

Mel.  All 

The  buzz  of  drugs  and  minerals  and  simples, 
Bloodlettings,  vomits,  purges,  or  what  else 
Is  conjured  up  by  men  of  art,  to  gull 
Liege-people,  and  rear  golden  piles,  are  trash 
To  a  strong  well-wrought  halter ;  there  the  gout, 
The  stone,  yes,  and  the  melancholy  devil, 
Are  cured  in  less  time  than  a  pair  of  minutes  : 
Build  me  a  gallows  in  this  very  plot, 
And  I'll  dispatch  your  business. 

Cor.  Fix  the  knot 

Right  under  the  left  ear. 

Mel.  Sirrah,  make  ready. 

Cor.  Yet  do  not  be  too  sudden  ;  grant  me  leave 
To  give  a  farewell  to  a  creature  long 
Absented  from  me  :  'tis  a  daughter,  sir, 
Snatched  from  me  in  her  youth,  a  handsome  girl ; 
She  comes  to  ask  a  blessing. 

•  Mel.  Pray,  where  is  she  ? 

I  cannot  see  her  yet. 

Cor.  She  makes  more  haste 

In  her  quick  prayers  than  her  trembling  steps, 
Which  many  griefs  have  weakened. 

Mel.  Cruel  man  ! 

How  canst  thou  rip  a  heart  that's  cleft  already 
With  injuries  of  time  ? — Whilst  I  am  frantic, 
Whilst  throngs  of  rude  divisions  huddle  on, 
And  do  disrank  my  brains  frOm  peace  and  skr 
So  long — I  am  insensible  of  r;?res. 
As  bails  of  wildfire  may  be  safely  touched, 
Not  violently  sundered  and  thrown  up  ; 


SCENE  II.]     THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.  67 

So  my  distempered  thoughts  rest  in  their  rage, 

Not  hurried  in  the  air  of  repetition, 

Or  memory  of  my  misfortunes  past : 

Then  are  my  griefs  struck  home,  when  they're  reclaimed 

"To  their  own  pity  of  themselves. — Proceed  ; 

What  of  your  daughter  now  ? 

Cor.  I  cannot  tell  ye, 

'Tis  now  out  of  my  head  again  ;  my  brains 
Are  crazy ;  I  have  scarce  slept  one  sound  sleep 
These  twelve  months. 

Mel.  'Las,  poor  man  !  canst  thou  imagine 

To  prosper  in  the  task  thou  tak'st  in  hand 
By  practising  a  cure  upon  my  weakness, 
And  yet  be  no  physician  for  thyself? 
Go,  go,  turn  over  all  thy  books  once  more, 
And  learn  to  thrive  in  modesty;  for  impudence 
Does  least  become  a  scholar.     Thou'rt  a  fool, 
A  kind  of  learned  fool. 

Cor.       .  I  do  confess  it. 

Mel.  If  thou  canst  wake  with  me,  forget  to  eat, 
Renounce  the  thought  of  greatness,  tread  on  fate, 
Sigh  out  a  lamentable  tale  of  things 
Done  long  ago.  and  ill  done ;  and,  when  sighs 
Are  wearied,  piece  up  what  remains  behind 
With  weeping  eyes,  and  hearts  that  bleed  to  death ; 
Thou  shalt  be  a  companion  fit  for  me, 
And  we  will  sit  together,  like  true  friends, 
And  never  be  divided.     With  what  greediness 
Do  I  hug  my  afflictions !  there's  no  mirth 
Which  is  not  truly  seasoned  with  some  madness  : 

:or  example, —  \Exit  hastily. 

Cor.  What  new  crotchet  next  ? 

There  is  so  much  sense  in  this  wild  distraction, 
That  I  am  almost  out  of  my  wits  too, 
To  see  and  hear  him  :   some  few  hours  more 
Spent  hert  would  turn  me  apish,  if  not  frantic. 


68  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA  NCHOL  Y.     [ACT  iv. 

Re-enter  MELEANDER  with  CLEOPHILA. 

Mel.  In  all  the  volumes  thou  hast  turned,  thou  man 
Of  knowledge,  hast  thou  met  with  any  rarity, 
Worthy  thy  contemplation,  like  to  this  ? 
The  model  of  the  heavens,  the  earth,  the  waters, 
The  harmony  and  sweet  consent  of  times, 
Are  not  of  such  an  excellence,  in  form 
Of  their  creation,  as  the  infinite  wonder 
That  dwells  within  the  compass  of  this  face  : 
And  yet  I  tell  thee,  scholar,  under  this 
Well-ordered  sign  is  lodged  such  an  obedience 
As  will  hereafter,  in  another  age, 
Strike  all  comparison  into  a  silence. 
She  had  a  sister  too ; — but  as  for  her, 
If  I  were  given  to  talk,  I  could  describe 
A  pretty  piece  of  goodness — let  that  pass — 
We  must  be  wise  sometimes.     What  would  you  with  her  ? 

Cor.  I  with  her  !  nothing,  by  your  leave,  sir,  I ; 
It  is  not  my  profession. 

Mel.  You  are  saucy, 

And,  as  I  take  it,  scurvy  in  your  sauciness, 
To  use  no  more  respect. — Good  soul,  be  patient; 
We  are  a  pair  of  things  the  world  doth  laugh  at : 
Yet  be  content,  Cleophila ;  those  clouds, 
Which  bar  the  sun  from  shining  on  our  miseries, 
Will  never  be  chased  off  till  I  am  dead  ; 
And  then  some  charitable  soul  will  take  thee 
Into  protection  :  I  am  hasting  on  ; 
The  time  cannot  be  long. 

Cleo.  I  do  beseech  ye, 

Sir,  as  you  love  your  health,  as  you  respect 
My  safety,  let  not  passion1  overrule  you. 

Mel.  It  shall  not ;  I  am  friends  with  all  the  world. 
Get  me  some  wine ;  to  witness  that  I  will  be 
An  absolute  good  fellow,  I  will  drink  with  thee. 

1  Sorrow. 


SCENE  II.]   THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA NCHOL  Y.  69 

Cor.  \Aside  to  CLEO.]  Have  you  prepared  his  cup  ? 
.    Cleo.  \Aside  to  COR.]  It  is  in  readiness. 

Enter  CUCULUS  and  GRILLA. 

Cue.  By  your  leave,  gallants,  I  come  to  speak  with  a 
young  lady,  as  they  say,  the  old  Trojan's  daughter  of  the 
house. 

Mel.  Your  business  with  my  lady-daughter,  toss-pot  ? 

Gril.  Toss-pot !     O  base  !  toss-pot ! 

Cue.  Peace  !  dost  not  see  in  what  case  he  is  ? — I 
would  do  my  own  commendations  to  her ;  that's  all. 

Mel.  Do. — Come,  my  Genius,  we  will  quaff  in  wine 
Till  we  grow  wise. 

Cor.  True  nectar  is  divine. 

\Exeunt  MELEANDER  and  CORAX. 

Cue.  So  !  I  am  glad  he  is  gone, — Page,  walk  aside. — 
Sweet  beauty,  I  am  sent  ambassador  from  the  mistress  of 
my  thoughts  to  you,  the  mistress  of  my  desires. 

Cleo.  So,  sir  !     I  'pray,  be  brief. 

,  Cue.  That  you  may  know  I  am  not,  as  they  say,  an 
animal,  which  is,  as  they  say,  a  kind  of  cokes,1  which  is, 
as  the  learned  term  it,  an  ass,  a  puppy,  a  widgeon,  a  dolt, 
a  noddy,  a — 

Cleo.  As  you  please. 

Cue.  Pardon  me  for  that,  it  shall  be  as  you  please  in 
deed  :  forsooth,  I  love  to  be  courtly  and  in  fashion. 

Cleo.  Well,  to  your  embassy.     What,  and  from  whom  ? 

Cue.  Marry,  "  What "  is  more  than  I  know ;  for  to 
know  what's  what  is  to  know  what's  what  and  for  what's 
what : — but  these  are  foolish  figures  and  to  little  purpose. 

Cleo.  From  whom,  then,  are  you  sent  ? 

Cue.  There  you  come  to  me  again.  O,  to  be  in  the 
favour  of  great  ladies  is  as  much  to  say  as  to  be  great  in 
ladies'  favours. 

Cleo.  Good  time  o'  day  t'ye !     I  can  stay  no  longer. 

Cue.  By  this  light,  but  you  must ;  for  now  I  come  to't. 

1  i.e.  A  simpleton. 


70  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA  NCHOL  Y.     [ACT  iv. 

The  most  excellent,  most  wise,  most  dainty,  precious, 
loving,  kind,  sweet,  intolerably  fair  lady  Thamasta  com 
mends  to  your  little  hands  this  letter  of  importance.  By 
your  leave,  let  me  first  kiss,  and  then  deliver  it  in  fashion 
to  your  own  proper  beauty.  {.Delivers  a  letter. 

Cleo.  To  me,  from  her  ?  'tis  strange  !    I  dare  peruse  it. 

[Reads. 

Cue.  Good.— O,  that  I  had  not  resolved  to  live  a 
single  life  !  Here's  temptation,  able  to  conjure  up  a 
spirit  with  a  witness.  So,  so  !  she  has  read  it.  [Aside. 

Cleo.  Is't  possible  ?  Heaven,  thou  art  great  and  boun 
tiful.— 

Sir,  I  much  thank  your  pains  ;  and  to  the  princess 
Let  my  love,  duty,  service,  be  remembered. 

Cue.  They  shall  mad-dam. 

Cleo.  When  we  of  hopes  or  helps  are  quite  bereaven, 
Our  humble  prayers  have  entrance  into  Heaven. 

Cue.  That's  my  opinion  clearly  and  without  doubt. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.—//  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  ARETUS  and  SOPHRONOS. 

Are.  The  prince  is  throughly  moved. 

Soph.  .    I  never  saw  him 

So  much  distempered. 

Are.  What  should  this  young  man  be  ? 

Or  whither  can  he  be  conveyed  ? 

Soph.  'Tis  to  me 

A  mystery  ;  I  understand  it  not. 

Are.  Nor  I. 

Enter  PALADOR,  AMETHUS,  and  PELIAS. 

Pal.  Ye  have  consented  all  to  work  upon 
The  softness  of  my  nature  ;  but  take  heed  : 
Though  I  can  sleep  in  silence,  and  look  on 


n i . ]  7 •///:  LOI *KR •  s  MELA NCHOL  r.       71 

The  mockery  ye  make  of  my  dull  patience, 

Yet  ye  shall  know,  the  best  of  ye,  that  in  me 

There  is  a  masculine,  a  stirring  spirit, 

Which,  once  provoked,  shall,  like  a  bearded  comet, 

Set  ye  at  gaze,  and  threaten  horror. 

Pel.  Good  sir, — 

Pal.  Good  sir  !  'tis  not  your  active  wit  or  language, 
Nor  your  grave  politic  wisdoms,  lords,  shall  dare 
To  check -mate  and  control  my  just  commands. 

Enter  MENAPHON. 

Where  is  the  youth,  your  friend?  is  he  found  yet? 

Men.  Not  to  be  heard  of. 

Pal.  Fly,  then,  to  the  desert, 

Where  thou  didst  first  encounter  this  fantastic, 
This  airy  apparition  ;  come  no  more 
In  sight !  Get  ye  all  from  me  :  he  that  stays 
Is  not  my  friend. 

Anift.  'Tis  strange. 

Are.  Soph.  We  must  obey. 

[Exeunt  all  but  PALADOR. 

Pal.  Some  angry  power  cheats  with  rare  delusions 
My  credulous  sense;  the  very  soul  of  reason 
Is  troubled  in  me ; — the  physician 
Presented  a  strange  masque,  the  view  of  it 
Puzzled  my  understanding  ;  but  the  boy — 

Enter  RHETIAS. 

Rhetias,  thou  art  acquainted  with  my  griefs  : 
Parthenophil  is  lost,  and  I  would  see  him ; 
For  he  is  like  to  something  I  remember 
A  great  while  since,  a  long,  long  time  ago. 

Rlic.  I  have  been  diligent,  sir,  to  pry  into  every  corner 
for  discovery,  but  cannot  meet  with  him.  There  is  some 
trick,  I  am  confident. 

Pal.  There  is ;  there  is  some  practice,  sleight,  or  plot. 

Rhc.    I  have  apprehended  a  fair  wench   in  an  odd  pri- 


72  THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.     [ACT  IV. 

vate  lodging  in  the  city,  as  like  the  youth  in  face  as  can 
by  possibility  be  discerned. 

Pal.  How,  Rhetias! 

Rhe.  If  it  be  not  Parthenophil  in  long-coats,  'tis  a 
spirit  in  his  likeness;  answer  I  can  get  none  from  her: 
you  shall  see  her. 

Pal.  The  young  man  in  disguise,  upon  my  life, 
To  steal  out  of  the  land. 

Rhe.  I'll  send  him  t'ye. 

Pal.  Do,  do,  my  Rhetias.  [Exit  RHETIAS. 

As  there  is  by  nature 
In  everything  created  contrariety, 
So  likewise  is  there  unity  and  league 
Between  them  in  their  kind  :  but  man,  the  abstract 
Of  all  perfection,  which  the  workmanship 
Of  Heaven  hath  modelled,  in  himself  contains 
Passions  of  several  qualities. 

\Enter  behind  EROCLEA  (PARTHENOPHIL), 
in  female  attire. 

The  music 

Of  man's  fair  composition  best  accords 
When  'tis  in  consort,  not  in  single  strains  : 
My  heart  has  been  untuned  these  many  months, 
Wanting  her  presence,  in  whose  equal  love 
True  harmony. consisted.     Living  here, 
We  are  Heaven's  bounty  all,  but  Fortune's  exercise. 

Ero.  Minutes  are  numbered  by  the  fall  of  sands, 
As  by  an  hourglass  ;  the  span  of  time 
Doth  waste  us  to  our  graves,  and  we  look  on  it : 
An  age  of  pleasures,  revelled  out,  comes  home 
At  last,  and  ends  in  sorrow ;  but  the  life, 
Weary  of  riot,  numbers  every  sand, 
Wailing  in  sighs,  until  the  last  drop  down ; 
So  to  conclude  calamity  in  rest. 

Pal.  What  echo  yields  a  voice  to  my  complaints? 
Can  I  be  nowhere  private? 

Ero.  \_Comes  forward,  and kneels\  Let  the  substance 


SCENE  in.]   THE  LOVER'S  MELANCPIOLY.          73 

As  suddenly  be  hurried  from  your  eyes 
As  the  vain  sound  can  pass,  sir,  from  your  ear, 
If  no  impression  of  a  troth  vowed  yours 
Retain  a  constant  memory. 

Pal.  Stand  up.  \Sherises. 

Tis  not  the  figure  stamped  upon  thy  cheeks, 
The  cozenage  of  thy  beauty,  grace  or  tongue, 
Can  draw  from  me  a  secret,  that  hath  been 
The  only  jewel  of  my  speechless  thoughts. 

Ero.  I  am  so  worn  away  with  fears  and  sorrows, 
So  wintered  with  the  tempests  of  affliction, 
That  the  bright  sun  of  your  life-quickening  presence 
Hath  scarce  one  beam  of  force  to  warm  again 
That  spring  of  cheerful  comfort,  which  youth  once 
Apparelled  in  fresh  looks. 

Pal.  Cunning  impostor  ! 

Untruth  hath  made  thee  subtle  in  thy  trade. 
If  any  neighbouring  greatness  hath  seduced 
A  free-born  resolution  to  attempt 
Some  bolder  act  of  treachery  by  cutting 
My  weary  days  off,  wherefore,  cruel-mercy, 
Hast  thou  assumed  a  shape  that  would  make  treason 
A  piety,  guilt  pardonable,  bloodshed 
As  holy  as  the  sacrifice  of  peace  ? 

Ero.  The  incense  of  my  love-desires  are  flamed 
Upon  an  altar  of  more  constant  proof. 
Sir,  O,  sir,  turn  me  back  into  the  world, 
Command  me  to  forget  my  name,  my  birth, 
My  father's  sadness,  and  my  death  alive, 
If  all  remembrance  of  my  faith  hath  found 
A  burial  without  pity  in  your  scorn  ! 

Pal.  My  scorn,  disdainful  boy,  shall  soon  unweave 
The  web  thy  art  hath  twisted.     Cast  thy  shape  off, 
Disrobe  the  mantle  of  a  feigned  sex, 
And  so  I  may  be  gentle  :  as  thou  art, 
There's  witchcraft  in  thy  language,  in  thy  face, 
In  thy  demeanours ;  turn,  turn  from  me,  prithee, 


74  THE  L O  J rER ' S  MELANCHOL  Y.     [ACT  iv. 

For  my  belief  is  armed  else. — Yet,  fair  subtility, 
Before  we  part, — for  part  we  must, — be  true: 
Tell  me,  thy  country. 

Ero.  Cyprus. 

Pal.  Ha!— Thy  father? 

Ero.  Meleander. 

Pal.  Hast  a  name  ? 

Ero.  A  name  of  misery 

The  unfortunate  Eroclea. 

Pal.  There  is  danger 

In  this  seducing  counterfeit.     Great  goodness, 
Hath  honesty  and  virtue  left  the  time  ? 
Are  we  become  so  impious,  that  to  tread 
The  path  of  impudence  is  law  and  justice  ? — 
Thou  vizard  of  a  beauty  ever  sacred, 
Give  me  thy  name. 

Ero.  Whilst  I  was  lost  to  memory 

Parthenophil  did  shroud  my  shame  in  change 
Of  sundry  rare  misfortunes  ;  but,  since  now 
I  am,  before  I  die,  returned  to  claim 
A  convoy  to  my  grave,  I  must  not  blush 
To  let  Prince  Palador,  if  I  offend, 
Know,  when  he  dooms  me,  that  he  dooms  Eroclea  : 
I  am  that  woful  maid. 

Pal.  Join  not  too  fast 

Thy  penance  with  the  story  of  my  sufferings  : — 
So  dwelt  simplicity  with  virgin  truth, 
So  martyrdom  and  holiness  are  twins, 
As  innocence  and  sweetness  on  thy  tongue. 
But,  let  me  by  degrees  collect  my  senses ; 
I  may  abuse  my  trust.     Tell  me,  what  air 
Hast  thou  perfumed,  since  tyranny  first  ravished 
The  contract  of  our  hearts  ? 

Ero.  Dear  sir,  in  Athens 

Have  I  been  buried. 

Pal.  Buried  !     Right ;  as  I 

in  Cyrus. — Come  to  trial ;  if  thou  beest 


SCENE  1 1 1.]    THE  LOl  7:'A' ' S  ME£ AX( 'HOL  Y.  75 

Krodea,  in  my  bosom  I  can  find  thee. 

Ero.  As  I,  Prince  Palador  in  mine  :  this  gift 

\Shows  him  a  tab  let. ] 

His  bounty  blessed  me  with,  the  only  physic 
My  solitary  cares  have  hourly  took, 
To  keep  me  from  despair. 

Pal.  We  are  but  fools 

To  trifle  in  disputes,  or  vainly  struggle 
With  that  eternal  mercy  which  protects  us. 
Come  home,  home  to  my  heart,  thou  banished  peace ! 
My  ecstasy  of  joys  would  speak  in  passion, 
But  that  I  would  not  lose  that  part  of  man 
Which  is  reserved  to  entertain  content. 
Eroclea,  I  am  thine ;  O,  let  me  seize  thee 
As  my  inheritance  !     Hymen  shall  now 
Set  all  his  torches  burning,  to  give  light 
Throughout  this  land,  new-settled  in  thy  welcome. 

Ero.  You  are  still  gracious,  sir.     How  I  have  lived, 
By  what  means  been  conveyed,  by  what  preserved, 
By  what  returned,  Rhetias,  my  trusty  servant, 
Directed  by  the  wisdom  of  my  uncle, 
The  good  Sophronos,  can  inform  at  large. 

Pal.  Enough.     Instead  of  music,  every  night, 
To  make  our  sleeps  delightful,  thou  shalt  close 
Our  weary  eyes  with  some  part  of  thy  story. 

Ero.  0,  but  my  father  ! 

Pal.  Fear  not ;  to  behold 

Eroclea  safe  will  make  him  young  again : 
It  shall  be  our  first  task. — Blush,  sensual  follies, 
Which  are  not  guarded  with  thoughts  chastely  pure  : 
There  is  no  faith  in  lust,  but  baits  of  arts  ; 
'Tis  virtuous  love  keeps  clear  contracted  hearts. 

[JSxeuut. 

1  i.e.  A  miniature  of  the  prince. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

SCENE  I.— A  Room  in  the  Castle. 
Enter  CORAX  and  CLEOPHILA. 
OR.  "Tis  well,  'tis  well ;  the  hour  is  at  hand, 
Which  must  conclude  the  business,  that 

no  art 
Could  all  this  while  make  ripe  for  wished 

content. 

O,  lady,  in  the  turmoils  of  our  lives, 
Men  are  like  politic  states,  or  troubled  seas, 
Tossed  up  and  down  with  several  storms  and  tempests, 
Change  and  variety  of  wrecks  and  fortunes ; 
Till,  labouring  to  the  havens  of  our  homes, 
We  struggle  for  the  calm  that  crowns  our  ends. 
Cleo.  A  happy  end  Heaven  bless  us  with  ! 
Cor.  'Tis  well  said. 

The  old  man  sleeps  still  soundly. 

Cleo.  May  soft  dreams 

Play  in  his  fancy,  that  when  he  awakes, 
With  comfort  he  may,  by  degrees,  digest 
The  present  blessings  in  a  moderate  joy ! 

Cor.  I  drenched  his  cup  to  purpose ;  he  ne'er  stirred 
At  barber  or  at  tailor.     He  will  laugh 
At  his  own  metamorphosis,  and  wonder. — 
We  must  be  watchful.     Does  the  couch  stand  ready  ? 
Cleo.  All,  all  as  you  commanded. 

Enter  TROLLIO. 

What's  your  haste  for? 
,Trol,  A  brace  of  big  women,  ushered  by  the  young 


SCENE  I.]     THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA NCHOL  Y.  77 

old  ape  with  his  she-clog  at  his  bum,  are  entered  the 
castle.     Shall  they  come  on  ? 

Cor.  By  any  means  :  the  time  is  precious  now. — Lady, 
be  quick  and  careful. — Follow,  Trollio.  {Exit. 

TroL  I  owe  all  sir-reverence  to  your  right  worshipful- 
ness.  [Exit. 

Cleo.  So  many  fears,  so  many  joys  encounter 
My  doubtful  expectations,  that  I  waver 
Between  the  resolution  of  my  hopes 
And  my  obedience :  'tis  not — O  my  fate  ! — 
The  apprehension  of  a  timely  blessing 
In  pleasures  shakes  my  weakness ;  but  the  danger 
Of  a  mistaken  duty  that  confines 
The  limits  of  my  reason.     Let  me  live, 
Virtue,  to  thee  as  chaste  as  truth  to  time ! 

Enter  THAMASTA,  speaking  to  some  one  wit/tout. 

Tha.  Attend  me  till  I  call. — My  sweet  Cleophila ! 

Cleo.  Great  princess, — 

Tha.  I  bring  peace,  to  sue  a 'pardon 

For  my  neglect  of  all  those  noble  virtues 
Thy  mind  and  duty  are  apparelled  with  : 
I  have  deserved  ill  from  thee,  and  must  say 
Thou  art  too  gentle,  if  thou  canst  forget  it. 

Cleo.  Alas,  you  have  not  wronged  me ;  for,  indeed, 
Acquaintance  with  my  sorrows  and  my  fortune 
Were  grown  to  such  familiarity, 
That  'twas  an  impudence,  more  than  presumption, 
To  wish  so  great  a  lady  as  you  are 
Should  lose  affection  on  my  uncle's  son  : 
But  that  your  brother,  equal  in  your  blood, 
Should  stoop  to  such  a  lowness  as  to  love 
A  c  ;i>ta\vay,  a  poor  despised  maid, 
Only  for  me  to  hope  was  almost  sin  ; — 
Vet,  : troth,  I  never  tempted  him. 

Tha.  Chide  not 

The  grossness  of  my  trespass,  lovely  sweetness, 


;8  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA  NCHOL  Y.      [ACT  V. 

In  such  an  humble  language ;  I  have  smarted 
Already  in  the  wounds  my  pride  hath  made 
Upon  your  sufferings  :  henceforth  'tis  in  you 
To  work  my  happiness. 

Cleo.  Call  any  service 

Of  mine  a  debt ;  for  such  it  is.     The  letter 
You  lately  sent  me,  in  the  blest  contents 
It  made  me  privy  to,  hath  largely  quitted 
Every  suspicion  of  your  grace  or  goodness. 

Tha.  Let  me  embrace  you  with  a  sister's  love, 
A  sister's  love,  Cleophila  ;  for  should 
My  brother  henceforth  study  to  forget 
The  vows  that  he  hath  made  thee,  I  would  ever 
Solicit  i  thy  deserts. 

A/net.  Men.  [  Within]  We  must  have  entrance 

Tha.  Must !  Who  are  they  say  must  ?  you  are  unman 
nerly. 

Enter  AMETHUS  and  MENAPHON. 

Brother,  is't  you  ?  and  you  too,  sir  ? 

Amet.  Your  ladyship 

Has  had  a  time  of  scolding  to  your  humour  : 
Does  the  storm  hold  still  ? 

Cleo.  Never  fell  a  shower 

More  seasonably  gentle  on  the  barren 
Parched  thirsty  earth  than  showers  of  courtesy 
Have  from  this  princess  been  distilled  on  me, 
To  make  my  growth  in  quiet  of  my  mind 
Secure  and  lasting. 

Tha.  You  may  both  believe 

That  I  was  not  uncivil. 

Amd.  Pisli !  I  know 

Her  spirit  and  her  envy. 

Clco.  Now,  in  troth,  sir, — 

Pray  credit  me,  I  do  not  use  to  swear, — 
The  virtuous  princess  hath  in  words  and  carriage 
1  Plead. 


sc  K  N  EI.]      THE  L  O  VER '  .V  MEL  A  XL  'flOL  Y.  79 

Been  kind,  so  over-kind,  that  I  do  blush 
I  am  not  rich  enough  in  thanks  sufficient 
For  her  unequalled  bounty. — My  good  cousin, 
I  have  a  suit  to  you. 

Men.  It  shall  be  granted. 

Clco.  That  no  time,  no  persuasion,  no  respects 
Of  jealousies,  past,  present,  or  hereafter 
By  possibility  to  be  conceived, 
Draw  you  from  that  sincerity  and  pureness 
Of  love  which  you  have  oftentimes  protested 
To  this  great  worthy  lady :  she  deserves 
A  duty  more  than  what  the  ties  of  marriage 
Can  claim  or  warrant ;  be  for  ever  hers, 
As  she  is  yours,  and  Heaven  increase  your  comforts  ! 

A/net.  Cleophila  hath  played  the  churchman's  part ; 
I'll  not  forbid  the  banns. 

Mai.  Are  you  consented  ? 

Tha.    I    have  one   task    in  charge    first,  which  con 
cerns  me. 

Brother,  be  not  more  cruel  than  this  lady ; 
She  hath  forgiven  my  follies,  so  may  you. 
Her  youth,  her  beauly,  innocence,  discretion, 
Without  additions  of  estate  or  birth, 
Are  dower  for  a  prince,  indeed.     You  loved  her  ; 
For  sure  you  swore  you  did  :  else,  if  you  did  not, 
•  Here  fix  your  heart ;  and  thus  resolve,1  if  now 
You  miss  this  heaven  on  earth,  yoju  cannot  find 
In  any  other  choice  aught  but  a  hell. 

Amet.  The  ladies  are  turned  lawyers,  and  plead  hand 
somely 

Their  clients'  cases  :  I'm  an  easy  judge  ; 
And  so  shalt  them  be,  Memiphon.     I  give  thee 
My  sister  for  a  wife  ;  a  good  one,  friend. 

J/<7/.    Lad}',  will  you  confirm  the  gift? 

Tha.  Tim  enors 

)f  my  mistaken  judgment  being  lost 
1   /.('.  He  a  Uui!>. 


80  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA  NCHOL  Y.     [ACT  V. 

To  your  remembrance,  I  shall  ever  strive 
In  my  obedience  to  deserve  your  pity. 

Men.  My  love,  my  care,  my  all ! 

Amet.  What  rests  for  me  ? 

I'm  still  a  bachelor. — Sweet  maid,  resolve  me, 
May  I  yet  call  you  mine? 

Cleo.  My  lord  Amethus, 

Blame  not  my  plainness ;  I  am  young  and  simple, 
And  have  not  any  power  to  dispose 
Mine  own  will  without  warrant  from  my  father  • 
That  purchased,  I  am  yours. 

Amet.  It  shall  suffice  me. 

Enter  CUCULUS,  EELIAS,  and  TROLLIO,  plucking  in 
GRILLA. 

Cue.  Revenge  !  I  must  have  revenge ;  I  will  have  re 
venge,  bitter  and  abominable  revenge ;  I  will  have  re 
venge.  This  unfashionable  mongrel,  this  linseywolsey  of 
mortality — by  this  hand,  mistress,  this  she-rogue  is  drunk, 
and  clapper-clawed  me,  without  any  reverence  to  my 
person  or  good  garments. — Why  d'ye  not  speak,  gentle 
men  ? 

Pel.  Some  certain  blows  have  passed,  an't  like  your 
highness. 

Trol.  Some  few  knocks  of  friendship,  some  love-toys, 
some  cuffs  in  kindness,  or  so. 

Gril.  I'll  turn  him  away ;  he  shall  be  my  master  no 
longer. 

Men.  Is  this  your  she-page,  Cuculus  ?  'tis  a  boy,  sure. 

Cue.  A  boy,  an  errant  boy  in  long-coats. 

Trol.  He  has  mumbled  his  nose,  that  'tis  as  big  as  a 
great  codpiece. 

Cue.  O,  thou  cock-vermin  of  iniquity  ! 

Tha.  Pelias,  take,  hence  the   wag,   and    school    him 

for't.— 

For  your  part,  servant,  I'll  entreat  the  prince 
To  grant  you  some  fit  place  about  his  wardrobe. 


SCENE  I .]      THE  LOl 'ER ' kV  MELA NCHOL Y.          8 1 

Cue.  Ever  after  a  bloody  nose  do  I  dream  of  good 
luck. — I  horribly  thank  your  ladyship. — 
Whilst  I'm  in  office,  the  old  garb  shall  agen 
Grow  in  request,  and  tailors  shall  be  men. — 
Come,  Trollio,  help  to  wash  my  face,  prithee. 

Trol.  Yes,  and  to  scour  it  too. 

[Exeunt  CUCULUS,  TROLLIO,  PELIAS,  and  GRILLA. 

Re-enter  CORAX  with  RHETIAS. 

Rhe.  The  prince  and  princess  are  at  hand  ;  give  over 
Your  amorous  dialogues. — Most  honoured  lady, 
Henceforth  forbear  your  sadness :  are  you  ready 
To  practise  your  instructions? 

Ci'eo.  I  have  studied 

My  part  with  care,  and  will  perform  it,  Rhetias, 
With  all  the  skill  I  can. 

Cor.  I'll  pass  my  word  for  her. 

A  flourish. — Enter  PALADOR,  SOPHRONOS,  ARETUS,  and 
EROCLEA. 

Pal.  Thus  princes  should  be  circled,  with  a  guard 
Of  truly  noble  friends  and  watchful  subjects. 
O,  Rhetias,  thou  art  just ;  the  youth  thou  told'st  me 
That  lived  at  Athens  is  returned  at  last 
To  her  own  fortunes  and  contracted  love. 

Rhe.  My  knowledge  made  me  sure  of  my  report,  sir. 

Pal.   Eroclea,  clear  thy  fears  ;  when  the  sun  shines 
Clouds  must  not  dare  to  muster  in  the  sky, 
Nor  shall  they  here. — 

[CLEOPHILA  and  AMETHUS  kneel. 
"Why  do  they  kneel  ? — Stand  up ; 
The  day  and  place  is  privileged. 

Soph.  Your  presence, 

Great  sir,  makes  every  room  a  sanctuary. 

Pal.  Wherefore    does    this   young    virgin    use    such 

circumstance 
In  duty  to  us?— Rise. 


82  THE  L O  VER ' S  MELANCHOL  Y.      [ACT  v. 

Ero.  'Tis  I  must  raise  \\zs.-\Raises  CLEOPHILA. 

Forgive  me,  sister,  I  have  been  too  private, 
In  hiding  from  your  knowledge  any  secret 
That  should  have  been  in  common  'twixt  our  souls ; 
But  I  was  ruled  by  counsel. 

Cleo.  That  I  show 

Myself  a  girl,  sister,  and  bewray 
Joy  in  too  soft  a  passion  'fore  all  these, 
I  hope  you  cannot  blame  me. 

[  Weeps,  and  falls  into  the  arms  of  E  ROC  LEA. 

Pal.  We  must  part 

The  sudden  meeting  of  these  two  fair  rivulets 
With  the  island  of  our  arms.    [Embraces  EROCLEA] — Cle- 
The  custom  of  thy  piety  hath  built,       .'  [ophila, 

Even  to  thy  younger  years,  a  monument 
Of  memorable  fame :  some  great  reward 
Must  wait  on  thy  desert. 

Soph.  The  prince  speaks  t'ye,  niece. 

«-  Cor.  Chat  low,  I  pray ;  let  us  about  our  business. 
The  good  old  man  awakes. — My  lord,  withdraw.— 
Rhetias,  let's  settle  here  the  couch 

Pal.  Away,  then !         \Exeunt. 

Soft  music. — Re-enter  CORAX  and  RHETIAS  with  MELE- 
ANDER  asleep  on  a  couch,  his  hair  and  beard  trimmed, 
habit  and  gown,  changed.  While  they  are  placing  the 
couch,  a  Boy  sings  without. 

SONG. 

Fly  hence,  shadows,  that  do  keep 
Watchful  sorrows  charmed  in  sleep  ! 
Though  the  eyes  be  overtaken, 
Yet  the  heart  doth  ever  waken 
Thoughts,  chained  up  in  busy  snares 
/)f  continual  woes  and  cares : 
Love  and  griefs  are  so  exprest 
As  they  rather  sigh  than  rest. 
Fly  hence,  shadows,  that  do  keep 
Watchful  sorrows  charmed  in  sleep  ! 


icENE  I.]    THE  L  OVER '  S  J//-.7.  A  XCHOL  Y.  8^ 

Mel.  [Awakes]  Where  am   I  ?  ha !     What  sounds  are 

these?     'Tis  day,  sure. 
O,  I  have  slept  belike  ;  'tis  but  the  foolery 
Of  some  beguiling  dream.     So,  so  !  I  will  not' 
Trouble  the  play  of  my  delighted  fancy, 
But  dream  my  dream  out. 

Cor.  Morrow  to  your  lordship  ! 

You  took  a  jolly  nap,  and  slept  it  soundly. 

Mel.  Away,  beast !  let  me  alone. 

[The  music  ceases. 

Cor.  O,  by  your  leave,  sir, 

I  must  be  bold  to  raise  ye  ;  else  your  physic 
Will  turn  to  further  sickness. 

[He  assists  MELEANDER  to  sit  up. 

Mel.  Physic,  bear-leech  P1 

Cor.  Yes,  physic  ;  you  are  mad. 

Mel.  Trollio!  Cleophila! 

Rhe.  Sir,  I  am  here. 

Mel.  I  know  thee,  Rhetias ;  prithee  rid  the  room 
Of  this  tormenting  noise.     He  tells  me,  sirrah, 
I  have  took  physic,  Rhetias  ;  physic,  physic  ! 

Rhe.  Sir,    true,   you   have ;    and    this    most    learned 

scholar 

Applied  't  ye.     O,  you  were  in  dangerous  plight 
Before  he  took  ye  in  hand. 

Mel.  These  things  are  drunk, 

Directly  drunk  —Where  did  you  get  your  liquor  ? 

Cor.  I  never  saw  a  body  in  the  wane 
Of  age  so  overspread  with  several  sorts 
Of  such  diseases  as  the  strength  of  youth 
Would  groan  under  and  sink. 

Rhe.  The  more  your  glory 

In  the  miraculous  cure. 

Cor.  Bring  me  the  cordial 

•epared  for  him  to  take  after  his  sleep  ; 

'will  do  him  good  at  heart. 

Rhe.  I  hope  it  will,  sir.     [Exit. 

1  I.e.  Bear-  'octor. 


84  THE  L  O  VER '  3  MELA  NCHOL  Y.      [ACT  V, 

Mel  What  dost  thou  think  I  am,  that  them  shouldst 

fiddle 

So  much  upon  my  patience  ?     Fool,  the  weight 
Of  my  disease  sits  on  my  heart  so  heavy, 
That  all  the  hands  of  art  cannot  remove 
One  grain,  to  ease  my  grief.     If  thou  couldst  poison 
My  memory,  or  wrap  my  senses  up 
Into  a  dulness  hard  and  cold  as  flints ; 
If  thou  couldst  make  me  walk,  speak,  eat,  and  laugh 
Without  a  sense  or  knowledge  of  my  faculties, 
Why,    then,    perhaps,    at    marts    thou    mightst    make 

benefit 

Of  such  an  antic  motion,*  and  get  credit 
From  credulous  gazers,  but  not  profit  me. 
Study  to  gull  the  wise  ;  I  am  too  simple 
To  be  wrought  on. 

Cor.  I'll  burn  my  books,  old  man, 

But  I  will  do  thee  good,  and  quickly  too. 

Re-enter  ARETUS  with  a  patent. 

Arc.  Most  honoured  Lord  Meleander,  our  great  master, 
Prince  Palador  of  Cyprus,  hath  by  me 
Sent  you  this  patent,  in  which  is  contained 
Not  only  confirmation  of  the  honours 
You  formerly  enjoyed,  but  the  addition 
Of  the  marshalship  of  Cyprus ;  and  ere  long 
He  means  to  visit  you.     Excuse  my  haste  ; 
I  must  attend  the  prince.  \Exit. 

Cor.    ,  There's  one  pill  works. 

Mel.  Dost  know  that  spirit  ?  'tis  a  grave  familiar, 
And  talked  I  know  not  what. 

Cor.  He's  like,  methinks, 

The  prince's  tutor,  Aretus. 

Mel.  Yes,  yes ; 

It  may  be  I  have  seen  such  a  formality ; 
No  matter  where  or  when. 

1  Puppet-show. 


SCENE  i.]  THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.  85 

Re-enter  AMETHUS,  with  a  staff. 

Ante.  The  prince  hath  sent  ye, 

My  lord,  this  staff  of  office,  and  withal 
Salutes  you  Grand  Commander  of  the  Ports 
Throughout  his  principalities.     He  shortly 
Will  visit  you  himself:  I  must  attend  him.  [Exit. 

Cor.  D'ye  feel  your  physic  stirring  yet  ? 

Mel.  A  devil 

Is  a  rare  juggler,  and  can  cheat  the  eye, 
But  not  corrupt  the  reason,  in  the  throne 
Of  a  pure  soul. 

Re-enter  SOPHRONOS,  with  a  tablet. 

Another ! — I  will  stand  thee ; 
Be  what  thou  canst,  I  care  not. 

Soph.  From  the  prince, 

Dear  brother,  I  present  you  this  rich  relic, 
A  jewel  he  hath  long  worn  in  his  bosom  : 
Henceforth,  he  bade  me  say,  he  does  beseech  you 
To  call  him  son,  for  he  will  call  you  father ; 
It  is  an  honour,  brother,  that  a  subject 
Cannot  but  entertain  with  thankful  prayers. 
Be  moderate  in  your  joys  :  he  will  in  person 
Confirm  my  errand,  but  commands  my  service.        \_Exit. 

Cor.  What  hope  now  of  your  cure  ? 

Mel.  Stay,  stay  ! — What  earthquakes 

Roll  in  my  flesh  !  Here's  prince,  and  prince,  and  prince ; 
Prince  upon  prince  !     The  dotage  of  my  sorrows 
Revels  in  magic  of  ambitious  scorn  : 
Be  they  enchantments  deadly  as  the  grave, 
I'll  look  upon  'em.     Patent,  staff,  and  relic  ! 
To  the  last  first.   \Taking  up  tlic  miniature^   Round  me, 

ye  guarding  ministers, 
And  ever  keep  me  waking,  till  the  cliffs 
That  overhang  my  sight  fall  off,  and  leave 
These  hollow  spaces  to  be  crammed  with  dust ! 

1  Miniature. 


86  THE  L  O  VER '  ,V  MELA  XCHOL  Y.      [ACT  v. 

Cor.  'Tis  time,  I  see,  to  fetch  the  cordial.     Prithee, 
Sit  down ;  I'll  instantly  be  here  again.  [Exit. 

Mel.  Good,  give  me  leave  ;  I  will  sit  down  :  indeed, 
Here's  company  enough  for  me  to  prate  to. 

\_Looks  at  the  picture. 

Eroclea  ! — 'tis  the  same  ;  the  cunning  arts-man 
Faltered  not  in  a  line.     Could  he  have  fashioned 
A  little  hollow  space  here,  and  blown  breath 
T'  have  made  it  move  and  whisper,  't  had  been  excel 
lent  :— 

But,  faith,  'tis  well,  'tis  very  well  as  'tis, 
Passing,  most  passing  well. 

Re-enter  CLEOPHILA  leading  EROCLEA,  and  followed 
by  RHETIAS. 

Cleo.  The  sovereign  greatness, 

Who,  by  commission  from  the  powers  of  Heaven, 
Sways  both  this  land  and  us,  our  gracious  prince, 
By  me  presents  you,  sir,  with  this  large  bounty, 
A  gift  more  precious  to  him  than  his  birthright. 
Here  let  your  cares  take  end  ;  now  set  at  liberty 
Your  long-imprisoned  heart,  and  welcome  home 
The  solace  of  your  soul,  too  long  kept  from  you. 

Ero.  \Kneeling\  Dear  sir,  you  know  me  ? 

Mel.  Yes,  thou  art  my  daughter, 

My  eldest  blessing.     Know  thee  !  why,  Eroclea, 
I  never  did  forget  thee  in  thy  absence. 
Poor  soul,  how  dost  ? 

Ero.  The  best  of  my  well-being 

Consists  in  yours. 

Mel.  Stand  up :  the  gods,  who  hitherto 

[EROCLEA  rises 

Have  kept  us  both  alive,  preserve  thee  ever! — 
Cleophila,  I  thank  thee  and  the  prince : — 
I  thank  thee  too,  Eroclea,  that  thou  wouldst, 
In  pity  of  my  age,  take  so  much  pains 
To  live,  till  I  might  once  more  look  upon  thee, 


EC;:XE  I.]   THE  LO\  'EK. ' S  MI'. I. .  1 XCHOL  Y.  87 

Before  I  broke  my  heart :  O,  'twas  a  piece 
Of  piety  and  duty  unexampled  ! 

Rhc.   {Aside\    The  good   man  relisheth  his  comforts 

strangely ; 
The  sight  doth  turn  me  child. 

Era.  I  have  not  words 

That  can  express  my  joys. 

Cleo.  Nor  I. 

Mel.  Nor  I : 

Yet  let  us  gaze  on  one  another  freely, 
And  surfeit  with  our  eyes.     Let  me  be  plain : 
If  I  should  speak  as  much  as  I  should  speak, 
I  should  talk  of  a  thousand  things  at  once, 
And  all  of  thee  ;  of  thee,  my  child,  of  thee ! 
My  tears,  like  ruffling  winds  locked  up  in  caves, 
Do  bustle  for  a  vent ; — on  t'other  side, 
To  fly  out  into  mirth  were  not  so  comely. 
Come  hither,  let  me  kiss  thee.    \To  EROCLEA]    With  a 

pride, 

Strength,  courage,  and  fresh  blood,  which  now  thy  pre 
sence 

Hath  stored  me  with,  I  kneel  before  their  altars, 
Whose  sovereignty  kept  guard  about  thy  safety. 
Ask,  ask  thy  sister,  prithee,  she  will  tell  thee 
How  I  have  been  much  mad. 

Cleo.  Much  discontented, 

Shunning  all  means  that  might  procure  him  comfort. 

Ero.  Heaven  has  at  last  been  gracious. 

Mel.  So  say  I : 

But  wherefore  drop  thy  words  in  such  a  sloth, 
As  if  thou  wert  afraid  to  mingle  truth 
With  thy  misfortunes  ?     Understand  me  throughly ; 
I  would  not  have  thee  to  report  at  large, 
From  point  to  point,  a  journal  of  thy  absence, 
'Twill  take  up  too  much  time;   I  would  securely 
Kngross  the  little  remnant  of  niy  life, 
That  thou  mightst  every  day  IK-  telling  somewhat, 


88  THE  L  O  VER '  S  MELA NCHOL  Y.      [ACT  v. 

Which  might  convey  me  to  my  rest  with  comfort. 
Let  me  bethink  me  :  how  we  parted  first, 
Puzzles  my  faint  remembrance — but  soft — 
Cleophila,  thou  told'st  me  that  the  prince 
Sent  me  this  present. 

Cleo.  From  his  own  fair  hands 

I  did  receive  my  sister. 

Mel.  To  requite  him, 

We  will  not  dig  his  father's  grave  anew, 
Although  the  mention  of  him  much  concerns 
The  business  we  inquire  of : — as  I  said, 
We  parted  in  a  hurry  at  the  court ; 
I  to  this  castle,  after  made  my  jail. 
But  whither  thou,  dear  heart  ? 

Rhe.  Now  they  fall  to't ; 

I  looked  for  this. 

Ero.  I,  by  my  uncle's  care, 

Sophronos,  my  good  uncle,  suddenly 
Was  like  a  sailor's  boy  conveyed  a-shipboard 
That  very  night. 

Mel.       \  A  policy  quick  and  strange. 

Ero.  The  ship  was  bound  for  Corinth  ;  whither  fir:  t; 
Attended  only  with  your  servant  Rhetias 
And  all  fit  necessaries,  we  arrived  : 
From  thence,  in  habit  of  a  youth,  we  journeyed 
To  Athens,  where,  till  our  return  of  late, 
Have  we  lived  safe. 

Mel.  O,  what  a  thing  is  man, 

To  bandy  factions  of  distempered  passions 
Against  the  sacred  Providence  above  him  ! 
Here,  in  the  legend  of  thy  two  years'  exile, 
Rare  pity  and  delight  are  sweetly  mixed. — 
And  still  thou  wert  a  boy  ? 

Ero.  So  I  obeyed 

My  uncle's  wise  command. 

Mel.  'Twas  safely  carried  : 

I  humbly  thank  thy  fate. 


SCENE  I.]     THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY.  89 

Ero.  If  earthly  treasures 

Arc  poured  in  plenty  down  from  Heaven  on  mortals, 
They  rain  amongst  those  oracles  that  flow 
In  schools  of  sacred  knowledge ;  such  is  Athens : 
Yet  Athens  was  to  me  but  a  fair  prison  : 
The  thoughts  of  you,  my  sister,  country,  fortunes, 
And  something  of  the  prince,  barred  all  contents, 
Which  else  might  ravish  sense ;  for  had  not  Rhetias 
Been  always  comfortable  to  me,  certainly 
Things  had  gone  worse. 

Mel.  Speak  low,  Eroclea. 

That  "something  of  the  prince"  bears  danger  in  it : 
Yet  thou  hast  travelled,  wench,  for  such  endowments 
As  might  create  a  prince  a  wife  fit  for  him, 
Had  he  the  world  to  guide :  but  touch  not  there. 
How  cam'st  thou  home  ? 

Rhc.  Sir,  with  your  noble  favour, 

Kissing  your  hand  first,  that  point  I  can  answer. 

Mel.  Honest,  right  honest  Rhetias ! 

Rlie.  Your  grave  brother 

Perceived  with  what  a  hopeless  love  his  son, 
Lord  Menaphon,  too  eagerly  pursued 
Thamasta,  cousin  to  our  present  prince  ; 
And,  to  remove  the  violence  of  affection, 
Sent  him  to  Athens,  where,  for  twelve  months'  space, 
Your  daughter,  my  young  lady,  and  her  cousin, 
Enjoyed  each  other's  griefs ;  till  by  his  father, 
The  Lord  Sophronos,  we  were  all  called  home. 

Mel.  Enough,    enough  :    the   world  .  shall    henceforth 

witness 

My  thankfulness  to  Heaven  and  those  people 
Who  have  been  pitiful  to  me  and  mine. — 
Lend  me  a  looking-glass. — How  now  !  how  came  I 
So  courtly,  in  fresh  raiments  ? 

Rhc.  Here's  the  glass,  sir. 

\Haiids  a  x/ass  to  MELEANDER. 

Mel.   I'm  in  the  trim  too. — O  Cleophila, 


90  THE  LOVER'S  JJ 'EL A NCHOL  Y.      [ACT  v. 

This  was  the  goodness  of  thy  care  and  cunning. — 

[Loud  music. 
Whence  comes  this  noise  ?  ' 

Rhe.  The  prince,  my  lord,  in  person. 

\They  kneel. 

Re-enter  PALADOR,  SOPHRONOS,  ARETUS,  AMETHUS, 
MENAPHON,  CORAX,  THAMASTA,  with  KALA. 

Pal.  Ye  shall  not  kneel  to  us ;  rise  all,  I  charge  ye. — 

[They  rise. 
Father,  you  wrong  your  age  ;  henceforth  my  anus 

{Embracing  MELEANDER. 

And  heart  shall  be  your  guard  :  we  have  o'erheard 
All  passages  of  your  united  lovas. 
Be  young  again,  Meleander  ;  live  to  number 
A  happy  generation,  and  die  old 
In  comforts  as  in  years  !     The  offices 
And  honours  which  I  late  on  thee  conferred 
Are  not  fantastic  bounties,  but  thy  merit : 
•  Enjoy  them  liberally. 

Mel.  My  tears  must  thank  ye, 

For  my  tongue  cannot. 

Cor.  I  have  kept  my  promise, 

And  given  you  a  sure  cordial. 

Mel.  O,  a  rare  one  ! 

Pal.  Good  man,  we  both  have  shared  enough  of  sad 
ness, 

Though  thine  has  tasted  deeper  of  the  extreme : 
Let  us  forget  it  henceforth.     Where's  the  picture 
I  sent  ye  ?     Keep  it ;  'tis  a  counterfeit ; 
And,  in  exchange  of  that,  I  seize  on  this, 

[Takes  EROCLEA  by  t/ic  hanf.. 
The  real  substance.     With  this  other  hand 
I  give  away,  before  her  father's  face, 
His  younger  joy,  Cleophila,  to  thee, 
Cousin  Amethus :  take  her,  and  be  to  her 

1  i.e.  Music,  in  which  sense  the  word  was  occasionally  used. 


I.]     THE  LOTXR'S  ME1.AXCHOLY. 


More  than  a  father,  a  deserving  husband. 
Thus  robbed  of  both  thy  children  in  a  minute, 
Thy  cares  are  taken  off. 

Mel.  My  brains  are  dulled  ; 

I  am  entranced,  and  know  not  what  you  mean. 
Great,  gracious  sir,  alas,  why  do  you  mock  me  ? 
I  am  a  weak  old  man,  so  poor  and  feeble, 
That  my  untoward  joints  can  scarcely  creep 
Unto  the  grave,  where  I  must  seek  my  rest. 

Pal.  Eroclea  was,  you  know,  contracted  mine ; 
Cleophila  my  cousin's,  by  consent 
Of  both  their  hearts  ;  we  both  now  claim  our  own  : 
It  only  rests  in  you  to  give  a  blessing, 
For  confirmation. 

Rhe.  Sir,  'tis  truth  and  justice. 

Mel.  The  gods,  that  lent  ye  to  me,  bless  your  vows  ! 
O,  children,  children,  pay  your  prayers  to  Heaven, 
For  they  have  showed  much  mercy. — But,  Sophronos, 
Thou  art  my  brother — I  can  say  no  more — 
A  good,  good  brother  ! 

Pal.  Leave  the  rest  to  time. — 

Cousin  Thamasta,  I  must  give  you  too. — 
She's  thy  wife,  Menaphon. — Rhetias,  for  thee, 
And  Corax,  I  have  more  than  common  thanks. — 
On  to  the  temple  !  there  all  solemn  rites 
Performed,  a  general  feast  shall  be  proclaimed. 
The  LOVER'S  MKLANCHOLY  hath  found  cure; 
Sorrows  are  changed  to  bride-songs.     So  they  thrive 
Whom  fate  in  spite  of  storms  hath  kept  alive.      {Exeunt. 


THE  LOVER'S  MELANCHOLY. 


To  be  too  confident  is  as  unjust 
In  any  work  as  too  much  to  distrust : 
Who  from  the  laws  of  study  have  not  swerved 
Know  begged  applauses  never  were  deserved. 
We  must  submit  to  censure  : l  so  doth  he 
Whose  hours  begot  this  issue  ;  yet,  being  free, 
For  his  part,  if  he  have  not  pleased  you,  then 
In  this  kind  he'll  not  trouble  you  again. 

1  Judgment. 


"TIS   TJTY  SHE'S   vl    WHOT^E. 


T  is  uncertain  when  '  T/s  Pity  She's  ii 
Whore  was  written.  It  was  acted  at  the 
Phoenix  in  Drury  Lane  by  the  Queen's 
Servants,  and  published  in  1633.  It  was 
one  of  the  plays  appropriated  by  the 
Phcenix  or  Cockpit  Theatre  in  1639. 

The  foundation  of  the  plot  may  possibly 
lhave  been  taken  from  a  slight  notice  in  Bandello.  There  is 
la  story  in  Rosset's  Histoires  Tragiques  de  Nostre  Temps 
1(1615),  entitled  "  Des  Amours  Incestueuses  d'un  Frere  et 
jd'une  Soeur,  et  de  leur  fin  Malheureuse  et  Tragique,"  which 
JFord  may  have  read;  but  it  has  little  resemblance  to  this 
jplay.  The  brother  and  sister  are  named  Lyzaran  and  Dora- 
lice.  Doralice  was  married  to  a  rich  old  man.  Subsequently, 
having  gathered  together  her  jewels,  she  is  taken  on  to  her 
brother's  horse  and  the  lovers  flee  together.  After  wander 
ing  in  many  places  .they  take  refuge  in  Paris,  are  arrested, 
condemned  to  death,  and  beheaded.  This  is  said  to  have 
actually  happened  in  France  in  the  reign  of  Henry  IV. 

The  play  was  very  well  received,  and  the  actors  earned 
"general  commendation." 


To  my  Friend  the  A  uthor. 

With  admiration  I  beheld  this  Whore, 
Adorned  with  beauty  such  as  might  restore 
(If  ever  being,  as  thy  Muse  hath  famed) 
Her  Giovanni,  in  his  love  unblamed  : 
The  ready  Graces  lent  their  willing  aid  ; 
Pallas  herself  now  played  the  chambermaid, 
And  helped  to  put  her  dressings  on.     Secure 
Rest  thou  that  thy  name  herein  shall  endure 
To  the  end  of  age  ;  and  Annabella  be 
Gloriously  fair,  even  in  her  infamy. 

THOMAS  ELLiCE.1 

1  Probably  '\  homas  Ellis  (or  Ellys),  of  Wyham,  Lincolnshire, 
who  was  made  a  baronet  by  Charles  II.  He  was  perhaps  a  brother 
of  Mr.  Robert  Ellice,  one  of  "the  three  respected  friends"  to 
whom  Ford  inscribed  The  Lover's  Melancholy,  and  also  the  friend 
of  Davenant. 


To  the  Truly  Noble 

JOHN,  EARL   OF    PETERBOBOUGH,    LORD    MOR- 

DAUNT,  BARON  OF  TURVEY.1 

My  Lord, 

[HERE  a  truth  of  merit  hath  a  general 
warrant,  there  love  is  but  a  debt,  acknow 
ledgment  a  justice.  Greatness  cannot 
often  claim  virtue  by  inheritance  ;  yet,  in  \ 
this,  yours  appears  most  eminent,  for  that 
you  are  not  more  rightly  heir  to  your  for 
tunes  than  glory  shall  be  to  your  memory.  Sweetness  of 
disposition  ennobles  a  freedom  of  birth  ;  in  both  your 
lawful  interest  adds  honour  to  your  own  name,  and  mercy 
to  my  presumption.  Your  noble  allowance  of  these  first 
fruits  of  my  leisure  in  the  action  emboldens  my  confi 
dence  of  your  as  noble  construction  in  this  presentment ; 
especially  since  my  service  must  ever  owe  particular  duty  to 
your  favours  by  a  particular  engagement.  The  gravity  of 

1  John,  first  Earl  of  Peterborough,  obtained  lh it  title  in  the  year 
1627-8.  He  was  brought  up  in  the  Roman  Catholic  faith,  but  was 
convened  by  a  disputation  at  his  own  house  between  Bishop  Usher 
and  a  Catholic,  who  confessed  himself  silenced  by  the  just  hand  of 
God  for  presuming  to  dispute  without  leave  from  his  supeiiors. 
He  joined  the  Parliamentary  army  in  1042,  was  made  General  of 
the  Ordnance  and  colonel  of  a  regiment  of  foot,  under  E-sex,  and 
died  in  the  same  vear, 


DEDICA  TIO.V. 


97 


the  subject  may  easily  excuse  the  lightness  of  the  title, 
otherwise  I  had  been  a  severe  judge  against  mine  own  guilt. 
Princes  have  vouchsafed  grace  to  trifles  offered  from  a 
purity  of  devotion  ;  your  lordship  may  likewise  please  to 
admit  into  your  good  opinion,  with  these  weak  endeavours, 
the  constancy  of  affection  from  the  sincere  lover  of  your 
deserts  in  honour, 

JOHN  FORD. 


Ford. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONAL. 


BONAVENTURA,  a  Friar. 

A  CARDINAL,  Nuncio  to  the  Pope. 

SORANZO,  a  Nobleman. 

FLORIO,     ) 

>    Citizens  of  Parma. 

DONADO,     } 

GRIMALDI,  a  Roman  Gentleman. 
GIOVANNI,  Son  of  FLORIO. 
BERGETTO,  Nephew  of  DONATO. 
RlCHARDETTO,  a  supposed  Physician. 
VASQUES,  Servant  to  SORANZO. 
POGGIO,  Servant  to  BERGETTO. 
Banditti,  Officers,  Attendants,  Servants,  &c. 

ANNABELLA,  Daughter  of  FLORIO. 

HlPPOLITA,  Wife  of  RlCHARDETTO. 

PHILOTIS,  Niece  of  RICHARDETTO. 
PUT-ANA,  Tutoress  to  ANNABELLA. 

SCENE— PARMA. 


02T 


'TIS    TITY  SHE'S   zA    WHOT(E. 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

SCENE  I.— Friar  BONAVENTURA'S  Cell. 

Enter  FRIAR  and  GIOVANNI. 

RIAR.  Dispute  no  more   in   this ;   for 

know,  young  man, 
These    are    no    school-points ;    nice 

philosophy 

May  tolerate  unlikely  arguments, 
But  Heaven  admits  no  jest :  wits  that 

presumed 

On  wit  too  much,  by  striving  how  to  prove 
There  was  no  God  with  foolish  grounds  of  art, 
Discovered  first  the  nearest  way  to  hell, 
And  filled  the  world  with  devilish  atheism. 
Such  questions,  youth,  are  fond  :  '  far  better  'tis 
To  bless  the  sun  than  reason  why  it  shines ; 
Yet  He  thou  talk'st  of  is  above  the  sun. 
No  more  !  I  may  not  hear  it. 

(/'/<'.  Gentle  father, 

To  you  I  have  unclasped  my  burdened  soul, 
Emptied  the  storehouse  of  my  thoughts  and  heart. 
Made  myself  poor  of  secrets  ;  have  not  left 
Another  word  untold,  which  hath  not  spoke 


TOO  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE,        [ACT  i. 

All  what  I  ever  durst  or  think  or  know; 
And  yet  is  here  the  comfort  I  shall  have? 
Must  I  not  do  what  all  men  else  may, — love  ? 

Friar.  Yes,  you  may  love,  fair  son. 

Gio.  Must  I  not  praise 

That  beauty  which,  if  framed  anew,  the  gods 
Would  make  a  god  of,  if  they  had  it  there, 
And  kneel  to  it,  as  I  do  kneel  to  them  ? 

Friar.  Why,  foolish  madman, — 

Gio.  Shall  a  peevish l  sound, 

A  customary  form,  from  man  to  man, 
Of  brother  and  of  sister,  be  a  bar 
'Twixt  my  perpetual  happiness  and  me  ? 
Say  that  we  had  one  father;  say  one  womb — 
Curse  to  my  joys  ! — gave  both  us  life  and  birth  ; 
Are  we  not  therefore  each  to  other  bound 
So  much  the  more  by  nature  ?  by  the  links 
Of  blood,  of  reason  ?  nay,  if  you  will  have't, 
Even  of  religion,  to  be  ever  one, 
One  soul,  one  flesh,  one  love,  one  heart,  one  all  ? 

Friar.  Have  done,  unhappy  youth  !  for  thou  art  lost, 

Gio.  Shall,  then,  for  that  I  am  her  brother  born, 
My  joys  be  ever  banished  from  her  bed  ? 
No,  father  ;  in  your  eyes  I  see  the  change 
Of  pity  and  compassion  ;  from  your  age, 
As  from  a  sacred  oracle,  distils 
The  life  of  counsel :  tell  me,  holy  man, 
What  cure  shall  give  me  ease  in  these  extremes  ? 

Friar.  Repentance,  son,  and  sorrow  for  this  sin : 
For  thou  hast  moved  a  Majesty  above 
With  thy  unranged  almost  blasphemy. 

Gio.  O,  do  not  speak  of  thai,  dear  confessor ! 

Friar.  Art  thou,  my  son,  that  miracle  of  wit 
Who  once,  within  these  three  months,  Avert  esteemed 
A  wonder  of  thine  age  throughout  Bononia  ? 

1  Tiifling. 


SCF.XE  i.]     'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  101 

How  did  the  University  applaud 

Thy  government,  behaviour,  learning,  speech, 

Sweetness,  and  all  that  could  make  up  a  man ! 

I  was  proud  of  my  tutelage,  and  chose 

Rather  to  leave  my  books  than  part  with  thee ; 

I  did  so  : — but  the  fruits  of  all  my  hopes 

Are  lost  in  thee,  as  thou  art  in  thyself. 

O,  Giovanni ! '  hast  thou  left  the  schools 

Of  knowledge  to  converse  with  lust  and  death  ? 

For  death  waits  on  thy  lust.     Look  through  the  world, 

And  thou  shall  see  a  thousand  faces  shine 

More  glorious  than  this  idol  thou  ador'st: 

Leave  her,  and  take  thy  choice,  'tis  much  less  sin ; 

Though  in  such  games  as  those  they  lose  that  win. 

Gio.  It  were  more  ease  to  stop  the  ocean 
From  floats  and  ebbs  than  to  dissuade  my  vows. 

Friar.  Then  I  have  done,  and  in  thy  wilful  flames 
Already  see  thy  ruin  ;  Heaven  is  just. 
Yet  hear  my  counsel. 

Gio.  As  a  voice  of  life. 

Friar.    Hie  to   thy  father's   house ;    there  lock  thee 

fast 

Alone  within  thy  chamber  ;  then  fall  down 
On  both  thy  knees,  and  grovel  on  the  ground  ; 
Cry  to  thy  heart ;  wash  every  word  thou  utter'st 
In  tears — and  if  t  be  possible — of  blood  : 
Beg  Heaven  to  cleanse  the  leprosy  of  lust 
That  rots  thy  soul ;  acknowledge  what  thou  art, 
A  wretch,  a  worm,  a  nothing ;  weep,  sigh,  pray 
Three  times  a-day  and  three  times  every  night : 
For  seven  days'  space  do  this  ;  then,  if  thou  find'st 
No  change  in  thy  desires,  return  to  me : 
I'll  think  on  remedy.     Pray  for  thyself 

1  Our  old  dramatists  appear  to  have  learned  Italian  entirely  from 
books;  few,  if  any,  of  them  pronounced  it  coirectly.  Giovanni  is 
here  used  by  Ford  as  a  quadrisyllable,  as  it  was  by  Alassinger  and 
others  of  his  contempoiaries. — Gijjford. 


102  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT  I. 

At  home,  whilst  I  pray  for  thee  here. — Away  ! 
My  blessing  with  thee  !  we  have  need  to  pray. 
Gio.  All  this  I'll  do,  to  free  me  from  the  rod 
Of  vengeance  ;  else  I'll  swear  my  fate's  my  god. 

{Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.     T/ie  Street  before  FLORIO'S  House. 
Enter  GRIMALDI  and  VASQUES,  with  their  swords  drawn. 

Vas.  Come,  sir,  stand  to  your  tackling;  if  you  prove 
craven,  I'll  make  you  run  quickly. 

Grim.  Thou  art  no  equal  match  for  me. 

Vas.  Indeed,  I  never  went  to  the  wars  to  bring  home 
news ;  nor  cannot  play  the  mountebank  for  a  meal's 
meat,  and  swear  I  got  my  wounds  in  the  field.  See  you 
these  gray  hairs?  they'll  not  flinch  for  a  bloody  nose. 
Wilt  thou  to  this  gear  ? 

Grim.  Why,  slave,  thinkest  thou  I'll  balance  my  re 
putation  with  a  cast-suit  ? 1  Call  thy  master ;  he  shall 
know  that  I  dare — 

Vas.  Scold  like  a  cot- quean  ; 2— that's  your  profession. 
Thou  poor  shadow  of  a  soldier,  I  will  make  thee  know 
my  master  keeps  servants  thy  betters  in  quality  and  per 
formance.  Comest  thou  to  fight  or  prate  ? 

Grim.  Neither,  with  thee.  I  am  a  Roman  and  a  gen 
tleman  ;  one  that  have  got  mine  honour  with  expense  of 
blood. 

Vas.  You  are  a  lying  coward  and  a  fool.  Fight,  or 
by  these  hilts,  I'll  kill  thee  : — brave  my  lord  ! — you'll 
fight? 

Grim.  Provoke  me  not,  for  if  thou  dost — 

Vas.  Have  at  you  ! 

\The.y  fight ;  GRIMALDI  is  worsted. 

1  i.e.  Cast-off. 

2  A  contemptuous  term  for  one  who  concerns  himself  with  female 
affairs. 


SCKXK  ii. j     'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  103 

Enter  FLORIO,  DON  ADO,  and  SORANZO,  from  opposite 
sides 

Flo.    What   mean   these   sudden   broils   so   near  my 

doors  ? 

Have  you  not  other  places  but  my  house 
To  vent  the  spleen  of  your  disordered  bloods  ? 
Must  I  be  haunted  still  with  such  unrest 
As  not  to  eat  or  sleep  in  peace  at  home? 
Is  this  your  love,  Grimaldi  ?     Fie  !  'tis  naught. 

Don.  And,  Vasques,  I  may  tell  thee,  'tis  not  well 
To  broach  these  quarrels  ;  you  are  ever  forward 
In  seconding  contentions. 

Enter  ANNABELLA  and  PUTANA  above. 

Flo.  What's  the  ground  ? 

Sor.  That,  with  your  patience,  signiors,  I'll  resolve : 
This  gentleman,  whom  fame  reports  a  soldier, — 
For  else  I  know  not, — rivals  me  in  love 
To  Signior  Florio's  daughter  ;  to  whose  ears 
He  still  prefers  his  suit,  to  my  disgrace; 
Thinking  the  way  to  recommend  himself 
Is  to  disparage  me  in  his  report : — 
But  know,  Grimaldi,  though,  may  be,  thou  art 
My  equal  in  thy  blood,  yet  this  bewrays 
A  lowness  in  thy  mind,  which,  wert  thou  noble, 
Thou  wouldst  as  much  disdain  as  I  do  thee 
For  this  umvorthiness  :— and  on  this  ground 
I  willed  my  servant  to  correct  his  tongue, 
Holding  a  man  so  base  no  match  for  me. 

}'as.  And  had  not  your  sudden  coming  prevented  us, 
I  had  let  my  gentleman  blood  under  the  gills  : — I  should 
have  wormed  you,  sir,  for  running  mad.1 

Grim.  I'll  be  revenged,  Soranzo. 

1  The  allusion  is  to  the  practice  of  cutting  what  is  called  the 
worm  from  under  a  dog's  tongce,  as  a  preventive  of  madness. — 

Gifford. 


104  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT  I. 

Vas.  On  a  dish  of  warm  broth  to  stay  your  stomach — 
do,  honest  innocence,  .do  !  spoon-meat  is  a  wholesomer 
diet  than  a  Spanish  blade. 

Grim.  Remember  this  ! 

Sor.  I  fear  thee  not,  Grimaldi. 

\Exit  GRIMALDI. 

Flo.  My  Lord  Soranzo,  this  is  strange  to  me, 
Why  you  should  storm,  having  my  word  engaged  ; 
Owing *  her  heart,  what  need  you  doubt  her  ear  ? 
Losers  may  talk  by  law  of  any  game. 

Vas.  Yet  the  villany  of  words,  Signior  Florio,  may  be 
such  as  would  make  any  unspleened  dove  choleric. 
Blame  not  my  lord  in  this. 

Flo.  Be  you  more  silent : 

I  would  not  for  my  wealth,  my  daughter's  love 
Should  cause  the  spilling  of  one  drop  of  blood. 
Vasques,  put  up,  let's  end  this  fray  in  wine.  [£xeunf. 

Put.  How  like  you  this,  child  ?  here's  threatening, 
challenging,  quarrelling,  and  fighting  on  every  side ;  and 
all  is  for  your  sake:  you  had  need  look  to  yourself, 
charge;  youM  be  stolen  away  sleeping  else  shortly. 

Ann.  But,  tutoress,  such  a  life  gives  no  content 
To  me ;  my  thoughts  are  fixed  on  other  ends. 
Would  you  would  leave  me ! 

Put.  Leave  you !  no  marvel  else ;  leave  me  no  leaving, 
charge  ;  this  is  love  outright.  Indeed,  I  blame  you  not ; 
you  have  choice  fit  for  the  best  lady  in  Italy. 

Ann.  Pray  do  not  talk  so  much. 

Put.  Take  the  worst  with  the  best,  there's  Grimaldi 
the  soldier,  a  very  well-timbered  fellow.  They  say  he  is 
a  Roman,  nephew  to  the  Duke  Montferrato ;  they  say  he 
did  good  service  in  the  wars  against  the  Milanese  ;  but, 
'faith,  charge,  I  do  not  like  him,  an't  be  for  nothing  but  for 
being  a  soldier :  not  one  amongst  twenty  of  your  skir 
mishing  captains  but  have  some  privy  maim  or  other  that 
mars  their  standing  upright.  I  like  him  the  worse,  he 

1  i.e.  Owning. 


SCENE  ii.]     'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  105 

crinkles  so  much  in  the  hams :  though  he  might  serve  if 
there  were  no  more  men,  yet  he's  not  the  man  I  would 
choose. 

Ann.  Fie,  how  thou  pratest. 

Put.  As  I  am  a  very  woman,  I  like  Signior  Soranzo 
well ;  he  is  wise,  and  what  is  more,  rich ;  and  what  is 
more  than  that,  kind ;  and  what  is  more  that  all  this,  a 
nobleman  :  such  a  one,  were  I  the  fair  Annabella  myself, 
I  would  wish  and  pray  for.  Then  he  is  bountiful ; 
besides,  he  is  handsome,  and,  by  my  troth,  I  think, 
wholesome, — and  that's  news  in  a  gallant  of  three-and- 
twenty;  liberal,  that  I  know;  loving,  that  you  know;  and 
a  man  sure,  else  he  could  never  ha'  purchased  such  a  good 
name  with  Hippolita,  the  lusty  widow,  in  her  husband's 
lifetime  :  an  'twere  but  for  that  report,  sweetheart,  would  'a 
were  thine  !  Commend  a  man  for  his  qualities,  but  take 
a  husband  as  he  is  a  plain,  sufficient,  naked  man  :  such  a 
one  is  for  your  bed,  and  such  a  one  is  Signior  Soranzo, 
my  life  for't. 

Ann.  Sure  the  woman  took  her  morning's  draught  too 
soon. 

Enter  BERGETTO  and  POGGIO. 

Put.  But  look,  sweetheart,  look  what,  thing  comes  now  ! 
Here's  another  of  your  ciphers  to  fill  up  the  number  :  O, 
brave  old  ape  in  a  silken  coat !  Observe. 

Berg.  Didst  thou  think,  Poggio,  that  I  would  spoil  my 
new  clothes,  and  leave  my  dinner,  to  fight  ? 

Pog.  No,  sir,  I  did  not  take  you  for  so  arrant  a  baby. 

Berg.  I  am  wiser  than  so :  for  I  hope,  Poggio,  thou 
never  heardst  of  an  elder  brother  that  was  a  coxcomb ; 
didst,  Poggio  ? 

Pog.  Never,  indeed,  sir,  as  long  as  they  had  either  land 
or  money  left  them  to  inherit. 

Berg.  Is  it  possible,  Poggio  ?  O,  monstrous  !  Why, 
I'll  undertake  with  a  handful  of  silver  to  buy  a  headful 
of  wit  at  any  time :  but,  sirrah,  I  have  another  purchase 


io6  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT  i. 

in  hand  ;  I  shall  have  the  wench,  mine  uncle  says.  I 
will  but  wash  my  face  and  shift  socks,  and  then  have  at 
her,  i 'faith ! — Mark  my  pace,  Poggio  ! 

[Passes  over  the  stage,  and  exit. 

Pog.  Sir, — I  have  seen  an  ass  and  a  mule  trot  the 
Spanish  pavin  l  with  a  better  grace,  I  know  not  how 
often.  [Aside,  and  follows  him. 

Ann.  This  idiot  haunts  me  too. 

Put.  Ay,  ay,  he  needs  no  description.  The  rich  mag- 
nifico  that  is  below  with  your  father,  charge,  Signior 
Donado  his  uncle,  for  that  he  means  to  make  this,  his 
cousin,2  a  golden  calf,  thinks  that  you  will  be  a  right 
Israelite,  and  fall  down  to  him  presently :  but  I  hope  I 
have  tutored  you  better.  They  say  a  fool's  bauble  is  a 
lady's  playfellow ;  yet  you,  having  wealth  enough,  you 
need  not  cast  upon  the  dearth  of  flesh,  at  any  rate.  Hang 
him,  innocent  !3 

GIOVANNI  passes  over  the  stage. 

Ann.  But  see,  Putana,  see  !  what  blessed  shape 
Of  some  celestial  creature  now  appears ! — 
What  man  is  he,  that  with  such  sad  aspect 
Walks  careless  of  himself  ? 

Put.  Where? 

Ann.  Look  below. 

Put.  O,  'tis  your  brother,  sweet. 

Ann.  Ha ! 

Put.  'Tis  your  brother. 

Ann.  Sure,  'tis  not  he ;  this  is  some  woful  thing 
Wrapped  up  in  grief,  some  shadow  of  a  man. 
Alas,  he  beats  his  breast  and  wipes  his  eyes, 
Drowned  all  in  tears  :  methinks  I  hear  him  sigh  : 

1  "A  grave  and  majestic  dance;  the  method  of  performing  it  was 
anciently  by  gentlemen  dressed  with  a  cap  and  sword  ;  by  those  of 
the  long  robe,  in  their  gowns  ;  by  princes,  in  their  mantles  :  and  by 
ladies,  in  gowns  with  long  trains,  the  motion  whereof  in  the  dance 
resembled  that  of  a  peacock's  tail." — Ilaickins. 

2  i.e.  Nephew.  3  Id'ot. 


SCENE  in.]   'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A   WHORE.  167 

Let's  down,  Putana,  and  partake  the  cause. 
I  know  my  brother,  in  the  love  he  bears  me, 
Will  not  deny  me  partage  in  his  sadness. — 
My  soul  is  full  of  heaviness  and  fear.  \_Aside. 

{Exit  above  with  PUTANA. 

SCENE  III.—  A  Hall  in  FLORIO'S  House. 

Enter  GIOVANNI. 

Gio.   Lost !    I   am  lost !   my  fates  have   doomed  my 

death: 

The  more  I  strive,  I  love ;  the  more  I  love, 
The  less  I  hope :  I  see  my  ruin  certain. 
What  judgment  or  endeavours  could  apply 
To  my  incurable  and  restless  wounds, 
I  throughly  have  examined,  but  in  vain. 
0,  that  it  were  not  in  religion  sin 

To  make  our  love  a  jgod,  and  worship JtJ 

I  have  even  wearied  Heaven  with  prayers,  dried  up 
The  spring  of  my  continual  tears,  even  starved 
My  veins  with  daily  fasts  :  what  wit  or  art 
Could  counsel,  I  have  practised ;  but,  alas, 
I  find  all  these  but  dreams,  and  old  men's  tales, 
To  fright  unsteady  youth  ;  I'm  still  the  same: 
Or  I  must  speak,  or  burst.     'Tis  not,  I  know, 
My  lust,  but  'tis  my  fate  that  leads  me  on. 
Keep  fear  and  low  faint-hearted  shame  with  slaves ! 
I'll  tell  her  that  I  love  her,  though  my  heart 
Were  rated  at  the  price  of  that  attempt. — • 
O  me  !  she  comes. 

Enter  ANNABELLA  and  PUTANA. 

Ann.  Brother ! 

Gio.  \A<;i(ic\  If  such  a  thing 

As  courage  dwell  in  men,  ye  heavenly  powers, 
Now  double  all  that  virtue  in  my  tongue  ! 


io8  'TIS  PITT  SHE'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT' I, 

Ann.  Why,  brother, 
Will  you  not  speak  to  me  ? 

Gio.  Yes  :  how  d'ye,  sister? 

Ann.  Howe'er  I  am,  methinks  you  are  not  well. 

Put.  Bless  us  !  Why  are  you  so  sad,  sir  ? 

Gio.  Let  me  entreat  you,  leave  us  a  while,  Putana.— 
Sister,  I  would  be  private  with  you. 

Ann.  Withdraw,  Putana. 

Put.  I  will. — If  this  were  any  other  company  for  her, 
I  should  think  my  absence  an  office  of  some  credit :  but 
I  will  leave  them  together.  [Aside,  and  exit. 

Gio.  Come,    sister,    lend  your   hand :    let's   walk   to 
gether  ! 

I  hope  you  need  not  blush  to  walk  with  me ; 
Here's  none  but  you  and  I. 

Ann.  How's  this? 

Gio.  I'faith, 

I  mean  no  harm. 
'  Ann.  Harm  ? 

Gio.  No,  good  faith. 

How  is't  with  ye  ? 

Ann.  [Aside}     •       I  trust  he  be  not  frantic. — 
I  am  very  well,  brother. 

Gio.  Trust  me,  but  I  am  sick  ;  I  fear  so  sick 
'Twill  cost  my  life. 

Ann.  Mercy  forbid  it !  'tis  not  so,  I  hope. 

Gio.  I  think  you  love  me,  sister. 

Ann.  Yes,  you  know 

I  do. 

Gio.  I  know't,  indeed. — You're  very  fair. 

Ann.  Nay,  then  I  see  you  have  a  merry  sickness. 

Gio.  That's  as  it  proves.     The  poets  feign,  I  read, 
That  Juno  for  her  forehead  did  exceed 
All  other  goddesses  ;  but  I  durst  swear 
Your  forehead  exceeds  hers,  as  hers  did  theirs. 

Ann.  'Troth,  this  is  pretty  ! 

Gio.  Such  a  pair  of  stars 


sc E x F,  1 1 1 . ]   'TIS  PITY  SHE ' S  A    WHORE.  1 09 

As  are  thine  eyes  would,  like  Promethean  fire, 
If  gently  glanced,  give  life  to  senseless  stones. 

Ann.  Fie  upon  ye  ! 

Gio.  The  lily  and  the  rose,  most  sweetly  strange, 
Upon  your  dimpled  cheeks  do  strive  for  change  : 
Such  lips  would  tempt  a  saint ;  such  hands  as  those 
Would  make  an  anchorite  lascivious. 

Ann.  D'ye  mock  me  or  flatter  me? 

Gio.  If  you  would  see  a  beauty  more  exact 
Than  art  can  counterfeit  or  nature  frame, 
Look  in  your  glass,  and  there  behold  your  own. 

Ann.  O,  you  are  a  trim  youth  ! 

Gio.  Here  !  [  Offers  his  dagger  to  her. 

Ann.  What  to  do  ? 

Gio.  And  here's  my  breast ;  strike  home ! 

Rip  up  my  bosom  ;  there  thou  shalt  behold 
A  heart  in  which  is  writ  the  truth  I  speak. 
Why  stand  ye? 

Ann.  Are  you  earnest  ? 

Gio.  Yes,  most  earnest. 

You  cannot  love  ? 

Ann.  Whom  ?  • 

Gio.  Me.     My  tortured  soul 

Hath  felt  affliction  in  the  heat  of  death. 
O,  Annabella,  I  am  quite  undone  ! 
The  love  of  thee,  my  sister,  and  the  view 
Of  thy  immortal  beauty  have  untuned 
All  harmony  both  of  my  rest  and  life. 
Why  d'ye  not  strike  ? 

•Ann.  Forbid  it,  my  just  fears  ! 

If  this  be  true,  'twere  fitter  I  were  dead. 

Gio.  True,  Annabella !  'tis  no  time  to  jest. 
I  have  too  long  suppressed  the  hidden  flames 
That  almost  have  consumed  me  :  I  have  spent 
Many  a  silent  night  in  sighs  and  groans  ; 
Ran  over  all  my  thoughts,  despised  my  fate, 
Reasoned  against  the  reasons  of  my  love, 


no  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT  I. 

Done  all  that  smoothed-cheeked  virtue  could  advise ; 
But  found  all  bootless :  'tis  my  destiny 
That  you  must  either  love,  or  I  must  die. 

Ann.  Comes  this  in  sadness l  from  you  ? 

Gio.  Let  some  mischief 

Befall  me  soon,  if  I  dissemble  aught. 

Ann.  You  are  my  brother  Giovanni. 

Gio.  You 

My  sister  Annabella;  I  know  this, 
And  could  afford  you  instance  why  to  love 
So  much  the  more  for  this ;  to  which  intent 
Wise  nature  first  in  your  creation  meant 
To  make  you  mine  ;  else't  had  been  sin  and  foul 
To  share  one  beauty  to  a  double  soul. 
Nearness  in  birth  and  blood  doth  but  persuade 
A  nearer  nearness  in  affection. 
I  have  asked  counsel  of  the  holy  church, 
Who  tells  me  I  may  love  you  ;  and  'tis  just 
That,  since  I  may,  I  should  ;  and  will,  yes,  will. 
Must  I  now  live  or  die  ? 

Ann.  Live ;  thou  hast  won 

The  field,  and  never  fought :  what  thou  hast  urged 
My  captive  heart  had  long  ago  resolved. 
I  blush  to  tell  thee, — but  I'll  tell  thee  now, — 
For  every  sigh  that  thou  hast  spent  for  me 
I  have  sighed  ten ;  for  every  tear  shed  twenty : 
And  not  so  much  for  that  I  loved,  as  that 
I  durst  not  say  I  loved,  nor  scarcely  think  it. 

Gio.  Let  not  this  music  be  a  dream,  ye  gods, 
For  pity's  sake,  I  beg  ye  ! 

Ann.  On  my  knees,        [S/ie  kneels. 

Brother,  even  by  our  mother's  dust,  I  charge  you, 
Do  not  betray  me  to  your  mirth  or  hate  : 
Love  me  or  kill  me,  brother. 

Gio.  On  my  knees,       \He  kneels. 

Sister,  even  by  my  mother's  dust,  I  charge  you, 

1  Earnest. 


SCENE  iv.]    'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  in 

Do  not  betray  me  to  your  mirth  or  hate  : 
Love  me  or  kill  me,  sister. 

Ann.  You  mean  good  sooth,  then  ? 

Gio.  In  good  troth,  I  do ; 

And  so  do  you,  I  hope :   say,  I'm  in  earnest. 

Ann.  I'll  swear  it,  I. 

Gio.  And  I  ;  and  by  this  kiss, — 

[hisses  her. 
Once  more,  yet  once  more  :  now  let's  rise  \They  rise],— 

by  this, 

I  would  not  change  this  minute  for  Elysium,    s— - 
What  must  we  now  do  ? 

Ann.  What  you  will. 

Gio.  Come,  then ; 

After  so  many  tears  as  we  have  wept, 
Let's  learn  to  court  in  smiles,  to  kiss,  and  sleep. 

{Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.— A  Street. 
Enter  FLORIO  and  DONADO. 

/•A'.  Signior  Donado,  you  have  said  enough, 
I  understand  you  ;  but  would  have  you  know 
I  will  not  force  my  daughter  'gainst  her  will. 
You  see  I  have  but  two,  a  son  and  her ; 
And  he  is  so  devoted  to  his  book, 
As  I  must  tell  you  true,  I  doubt  his  health  : 
Should  he  miscarry,  all  my  hopes  rely 
Upon  my  girl.1     As  for  worldly  fortune, 
I  am,  I  thank  my  stars,  blessed  with  enough. 
My  care  is,  how  to  match  her  to  her  liking  : 
I  would  not  have  her  marry  wealth,  but  love 

1  "Girl"  is  here,  and  almost  everywhere  else  in  these  plays,  a 
dissyllable.  The  practice  is  not  peculiar  lo  our  poet ;  forFwnshaw, 
and  others  of  that  age,  have  numerous  examples  of  it. —  Gifford. 


H2  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT  i. 

And  if  she  like  your  nephew,  let  him  have  her. 
Here's  all  that  I  can  say. 

Don.  Sir,  you  say  well, 

Like  a  true  father  ;  and,  for  my  part,  I, 
If  the  young  folks  can  like, — 'twixt  you  and  me, — 
Will  promise  to  assure  my  nephew  presently 
Three  thousand  florins  yearly  during  life, 
And  after  I  am  dead  my  whole  estate. 

Flo.  'Tis  a  fair  proffer,  sir  ;  meantime  your  nephew 
Shall  have  free  passage  to  commence  his  suit : 
If  he  can  thrive,  he  shall  have  my  consent. 
So  for  this  time  I'll  leave  you,  signior.  [Jlxit. 

Don.  Well, 

Here's  hope  yet,  if  my  nephew  would  have  wit ; 
But  he  is  such  another  dunce,  I  fear 
He'll  never  win  the  wench.     When  I  was  young, 
I  could  have  done't,  i'faith  ;  and  so  shall  he, 
If  he  will  learn  of  me  ;  and,  in  good  time, 
He  comes  himself. 

Enter  BERGETTO  and  POGGIO. 

How  now,  Bergetto,  whither  away  so  fast? 

Berg.  O,  uncle,  I  have  heard  the  strangest  news  that 
ever  came  out  of  the  mint ! — Have  I  not,  Poggio  ? 

Pog.  Yes,  indeed,  sir. 

Don.  What  news,  Bergetto  ? 

Berg.  Why,  look  ye,  uncle,  my  barber  told  me  just 
now  that  there  is  a  fellow  come  to  town  who  undertakes 
to  make  a  mill  go  without  the  mortal  help  of  any  water 
cr  wind,  only  with  sand-bags:  and  this  fellow  hath  a 
strange  horse,  a  most  excellent  beast,  I'll  assure  you, 
uncle,  my  barber  says ;  whose  head,  to  the  wonder  of  all 
Christian  people,  stands  just  behind  where  his  tail  is, — 
Is't  not  true,  Poggio  ? 

Pog.  So  the  barber  swore,  forsooth. 

Don.  And  you  are  running  thither? 

Berg.  Ay,  forsooth,  uncle. 


SCENE  iv.]    'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  113 

Don.  Wilt  them  be  a  fool  still  ?  Come,  sir,  you  shall 
not  go  :  you  have  more  mind  of  a  puppet-play  than  on 
the  business  I  told  ye.  Why,  thou  great  baby,  wilt  never 
have  wit  ?  wilt  make  thyself  a  May-game  to  all  the 
world  ? 

Pog.  Answer  for  yourself,  master. 

Berg.  Why,  uncle,  should  I  sit  at  home  still,  and  not 
go  abroad  to  see  fashions  like  other  gallants  ? 

Don.  To  see  hobby-horses  !  What  wise  tall;,  I  pray, 
had  you  with  Annabella,  when  you  were  at  Signior  Florio's 
house  ? 

Berg.  O,  the  wench, — Ud's  sa'me,  uncle,  I  tickled  her 
with  a  rare  speech,  that  I  made  her  almost  burst  her  belly 
with  laughing. 

Don.  Nay,  I  think  so ;  and  what  speech  was't  ? 

Berg.  What  did  I  say,  Poggio  ? 

Pog.  Forsooth,  my  master  said,  that  he  loved  her 
almost  as  well  as  he  loved  parmasent  j1  and  swore — I'll  be 
sworn  for  him — that  she  wanted  but  such  a  nose  as  his 
was,  to  be  as  pretty  a  young  woman  as  any  was  in 
Parma. 

Don.  O,  gross  ! 

Berg.  Nay,  uncle: — then  she  asked  me  whether  my 
father  had  any  more  children  than  myself;  and  I  said 
"  No ;  'twere  better  he  should  have  had  his  brains 
knocked  out  first." 

Don.  This  is  intolerable. 

Berg.  Then  said  she,  "  Will  Signior  Donado,  your 
uncle,  leave  you  all  his  wealth  ?  " 

Don.  Ha  !  that  was  good  ;  did  she  harp  upon  that 
string  ? 

Berg.  Did  she  harp  upon  that  string !  ay,  that  she 
did.  I  answered,  "  Leave  me  all  his  wealth !  why, 
woman,  he  hath  no  other  wit;  if  he  had,  he  should 
hear  on't  to  his  everlasting  glory  and  confusion  :  1 

1  i.e.  Parmesan,  the  cheese  of  Parma. 

Ford.  I 


n4  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT  I. 

know,"  quoth  I,  "  I  am  his  white-boy,1  and  will  not  be 
gulled : "  and  with  that  she  fell  into  a  great  smile,  and 
went  away.  Nay,  I  did  fit  her. 

Don.  Ah,  sirrah,  then  I  see  there  is  no  changing  of 
nature.  Well,  Bergetto,  I  feai  thou  wilt  be  a  very  ass 
still. 

Berg.  I  should  be  sorry  for  that,  uncle. 

Don.  Come,  come  you  home  with  me :  since  you  are 
no  better  a  speaker,  I'll  have  you  write  to  her  after  some 
courtly  manner,  and  enclose  some  rich  jewel  in  the 
letter. 

Berg.  Ay,  marry,  that  will  be  excellent. 

Don.  Peace,  innocent ! 2  x 

Once  in  my  time  I'll  set  my  wits  to  school : 
If  all  fail,  'tis  but  the  fortune  of  a  fool. 

Berg.  Poggio,  'twill  do,  Poggio.  \Exeitnt. 

1  A  term  of  endearment.     It  is  said  that  this  and  similar  terms 
are  still  used  in  some  parts  of  Ireland.     Under  the  ancient  Irish 

•Geiltine  system  of  land  tenure  the  homestead  itself,  in  the  division 
of  the  family  property,  fell  to  the  lot  of  the  fifth  son,  who  was  called 
the  fair-haired  or  white-headed  boy,  geil  meaning  white. 

2  Idiot. 


ACT    THE   SECOND. 

SCENE  I .  —  A n  Apartment  in  FLORID' s  House. 
Enter  GIOVANNI  and  ANNABELLA. 

,IOVANNI.  Come,  Annabella, — no  more 

sister  now, 
But  love,  a  name  more  gracious, — do 

not  blush, 
Beauty's  sweet  wonder,  but  be  proud  to 

know 
That  yielding  thou  hast  conquered,  and 

inflamed 
A  heart  whose  tribute  is  thy  brother's  life. 

Ann.  And  mine  is  his.     O,  how  these  stol'n  contents 
Would  print  a  modest  crimson  on  my  cheeks, 
Had  any  but  my  heart's  delight  prevailed  ! 

Gio.  I  marvel  why  the  chaster  of  your  sex 
Should  think  this  pretty  toy  called  maidenhead 
So  strange  a  loss,  when,  being  lost,  'tis  nothing, 
And  you  are  still  the  same. 

Ann.  'Tis  well  for  you  ; 

Now  you  can  talk. 

Gio.  Music  as  well  consists 

In  the  ear  as  in  the  playing. 

Ann.  0,  you're  wanton  ! 

Teli  on't,  you're  best ;  do. 

Gio.  Thou  wilt  chide  me,  then. 

Kiss  me  : — so  !     Thus  hung  Jove  on  Leda's  neck, 
And  sucked  divine  ambrosia  from  her  lips. 


1 1 6  '  TIS  PITY  SHE '  S  A    WHORE.        [AC  T  1*3 

I  envy  not  the  mightiest  man  alive  ; 
But  hold  myself  in  being  king  of  thee, 
More  great  than  were  I  king  of  all  the  world. 
But  I  shall  lose  you,  sweetheart. 

Ann.  .        But  you  shall  not. 

Gio.  You  must  be  married,  mistress. 

Ann.  Yes  !  to  who'm  ? 

Gio.  Some  one  must  have  you. 

Ann.  You  must. 

Gio.  Nay,  some  other. 

Ann.  Now,  prithee  do  not  speak  so  :  without  jesting 
You'll  make  me  weep  in  earnest. 

Gio.  What,  you  will  not ! 

But  tell  me,  sweet,  canst  thou  be  dared  to  swear 
That  thou  wilt  live  to  me,  and  to  no  other  ? 

Ann.  By  both  our  loves  I  dare  ;  for  didst  thou  know, 
My  Giovanni,  how  all  suitors  seem 
To  my  eyes  hateful,  thou  wouldst  trust  me  then. 

Gio.  Enough,  I  take  thy  word  :  sweet,  we  must  part : 
Remember  what  thou  vow'st ;  keep  well  my  heart. 

Ann.  Will  you  be  gone? 

Gio.  I  must. 

Ann.  When  to  return  ? 

Gio.  Soon. 

Ann.  Look  you  do. 

Gio.'  Farewell. 

Ann.  Go  where  thou  wilt,  in  mind  I'll  keep  thee  here. 
And  where  thou  art,  I  know  I  shall  be  there 

\Exit  GIOVANNI. 

Guardian  ! 

Enter  PUTANA. 

Put.  Child,  how  is't,  child  ?  well,  thank  Heaven,  ha  ! 

Ann.  O  guardian,  what  a  paradise  of  joy 
Have  I  passed  over  ! 

Put.  Nay,  what  a  paradise  of  joy  have  you  passed 
under !  Why,  now  I  commend  thee,  charge.  Fear 
nothing,  sweetheart:  what  though  he  be  your  brother? 


SCENE  I.]     'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  117 

your  brother's  a  man,  I  hope  ;  and  I  say  still,  if  a  young 
wench  feel  the  fit  upon  her,  let  her  take  any  body,  father 
or  brother,  all  is  one. 

Ann.  I  would  not  have  it  known  for  all  the  world. 

Put.  Nor  I,  indeed ;  for  the  speech  of  the  people  : 
else  'twere  nothing. 

Flo.   [  J  fit/tin]  Daughter  Annabella  ! 

Ann.  O  me,  my  father  ! — Here,  sir  ! — Reach  my  v.ork. 

Flo.  [  Within\  What  are  you  doing  ? 

Ann.  So  :  let  him  come  now. 

Enter  FLORIO,  followed  by  RICHARDETTO  as  a  Doctor  of 
Physic,  and  PHILOTIS  with  a  lute. 

Flo.  So  hard  at  work  !  that's  well ;  you  lose  no  time. 
Look,  I  have  brought  you  company ;  here's  one, 
A  learned  doctor  lately  come  from  Padua, 
Much  skilled  in  physic ;  and,  for  that  I  see 
You  have  of  late  been  sickly,  I  entreated 
This  reverend  man  to  visit  you  some  time. 

Ann.  You're  very  welcome,  sir. 

Rich.  I  thank  you,  mistress. 

Loud  fame  in  large  report  hath  spoke  your  praise 
As  well  for  virtue  as  perfection  : * 
For  which  I  have  been  bold  to  bring  with  me 
A  kinswoman  of  mine,  a  maid,  for  song 
And  music  one  perhaps  will  give  content : 
Please  you  to  know  her. 

Ann.  They  are  parts  I  love. 

And  she  for  them  most  welcome. 

Phi.  Thank  you,  lady. 

Flo.  Sir,  now  you  know  my  house,   pray  make  not 

strange  ; 

And  if  you  find  my  daughter  need  your  art, 
I'll  be  your  pay-master. 

Ricli.  Sir,  what  I  am 

She  shall  command. 

1  Beauty, 


n8  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.       [ACT  n. 

Flo.  Sir,  you  shall  bind  me  to  you. — 

Daughter,  I  must  have  conference  with  you 
About  some  matters  that  concern  us  both. — 
Good  Master  Doctor,  please  you  but  walk  in, 
We'll  crave  a  little  of  your  cousin's  cunning  :  ' 
I  think  my  girl  hath  not  quite  forgot 
To  touch  an  instrument ;  she  could  have  done't : 
We'll  hear  them  both. 

Rich.  I'll  wait  upon  you,  sir.       {Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.—  A  Room  in  SORANZO'S  House. 

Enter  SORANZO  with  a  book. 

Sor.  \Reads\  "  Love's  measure  is  extreme,  the  comfort 

pain, 

The  life  unrest,  and  the  reward  disdain." 
What's  here?  look't  o'er  again.— 'Tis  so;  so  writes 
This  smooth,  licentious  poet  in  his  rhymes  : 
But,  Sannazar,  thou  liest;  for,  had  thy  bozom 
Felt  such  oppression  as  is  laid  on  mine, 
Thou  wouldst  have    kissed    the   rod   that    made   thee 

smart. — 

To  work,  then,  happy  Muse,  and  contradict 
What  Sannazar  hath  in  his  envy  writ.  [  Writes. 

"  Love's  measure  is  the  mean,  sweet  his  annoys, 
His  pleasures  life,  and  his  reward  all  joys." 
Had  Annabella  lived  when  Sannazar 
Did,  in  his  brief  Encomium,2  celebrate 

1  i.e.  Skill. 

2  This  is  the  well-known  epigram,  beginning 

"Viderat  Hadriacis  Venetam  Ncptunu;  in  undis 
Stare  urbem,"  &c. 

It  is  given  by  Coryat,  who  thus  speaks  of  it :  "I  heard  in  Vinice 
that  a  certaine  Italian  poet,  called  Jacobus  Sannazarius,  had  a  hun 
dred  crownes  bestowed  upon  him  by  the  Senate  of  Venice  for  each 
of  these  verses  following.  I  would  to  God  my  poeticall  Iriend  Master 


SCENE  ii.]    'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  119 

Venice,  that  queen  of  cities,  he  had  left 

That  verse  which  gained  him  such  a  sum  of  gold, 

And  for  one  only  look  from  Annabel 

Had  writ  of  her  and  her  diviner  cheeks. 

O,  how  my  thoughts  are — 

Vas.  \_\Vithiii\  Pray,  forbear;  in  rules  of  civility,  let 
me  give  notice  on't :  I  shall  be  taxed  of  my  neglect  of 
duty  and  service. 

Sor.  What  rude  intrusion  interrupts  my  peace  ? 
Can  I  be  no  where  private  ? 

Vas.   [  Within~\  Troth,  you  wrong  your  modesty. 

Sor.  What's  the  matter,  Vasques  ?  who  is't  ? 

Enter  Hii'FOLiTA  and  VAS(JUES. 

Hip.  Tis  I ; 

Do  you  know  me  now  ?     Look,  perjured  man,  on  her 
Whom  thou  and  thy  distracted  lust  have  wronged. 
Thy  sensual  rage  of  blood  hath  made  my  youth 
A  scorn  to  men  and  angels  ;  and  shall  I 
Be  now  a  foil  to  thy  unsated  change  ? 
Thou  know'st,  false  wanton,  when  my  modest  fa 
Stood  free  from  stain  or  scandal,  all  the  charms 
Of  hell  or  sorcery  could  not  prevail 
Against  the  honour  of  my  chaster  bosom. 
Thine  eyes  did  plead  in  tears,  thy  tongue  in  oaths, 
Such  and  so  many,  that  a  heart  of  steel 
Would  have  been  wrought  to  pity,  as  was  mine  : 
And  shall  the  conquest  of  my  lawful  bed. 
My  husband's  death,  urged  on  by  his  disgrace, 
My  loss  of  womanhood,  be  ill-rewarded 
With  hatred  and  contempt?     No;  know,  Soranzo, 
I  have  a  spirit  doth  as  much  distaste 
The  slavery  of  fearing  thee,  as  thou 
Dost  loathe  the  memory  of  what  hath  passed. 

Benjamin  Johnson  were  Jo  well  icwarckd  for  his  poems  here  in  Eng 
land,  seeing  he  hath  made  many  as  good  verses  (in  my  opinion)  as 
these  of  Sannazarins/.' — Gijford. 


1:0  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.       [ACT  11. 

.A>/'.  Nay,  clear  Hippolita, — 

Hip.  Call  me  not  dear, 

Nor  think  with  supple  words  to  smooth  the  grossness 
Of  my  abuses :  'tis  not  your  new  mistress, 
Your  goodly  madam-merchant,  shall  triumph 
On  my  dejection  ;  tell  her  thus  from  me, 
My  birth  was  nobler  and  by  much  more  free. 

Sor.  You  are  too  violent. 

Hip.  You  are  too  double 

In  your  dissimulation.     Seest  thou  this, 
This  habit,  these  black  mourning  weeds  of  care  ? 
Tis  thou  art  cause  of  this  ;  and  hast  divorced 
My  husband  from  his  life,  and  me  from  him, 
And  made  me  widow  in  my  widowhood. 

Sor.  Will  you  yet  hear? 

Hip.  More  of  thy  perjuries  ? 

Thy  soul  is  drowned  too  deeply  in  those  sins ; 
Thou  need'st  not  add  to  the  number. 

Sor.  Then  I'll  leave  you  ; 

You're  past  all  rules  of  sense. 

Hip.  And  thou  of  grace. 

Vas.  Fie,  mistress,  you  are  not  near  the  limits  of 
reason  :  if  my  lord  had  a  resolution  as  noble  as  virtue 
itself,  you  take  the  course  to  unedge  it  all. — Sir,  I  be 
seech  you  do  not  perplex  her  ;  griefs,  alas,  will  have  a 
vent:  I  dare  undertake  Madam  Hippolita  will  now  freely 
hear  you. 

Sor.  Talk  to  a  woman  frantic  ! — Are  these  the  fruits 
of  your  love  ? 

Hip.  They  are  the  fruits  of  thy  untruth,  false  man  ! 
Didst  thou  not  swear,  whilst  yet  my  husband  lived, 
That  thou  wouldst  wish  no  happiness  on  earth 
More  than  to  call  me  \\ife?  didst  thou  not  vow, 
When  he  should  die,  to  marry  me  ?  for  which 
The  devil  in  my  blood,  and  thy  protests, 
Caused  me  to  counsel  him  to  undertake 
A  voyage  to  Ligorne,  for  that  we  heard 


SCENE  ii.]    'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  121 

His  brother  there  was  dead,  and  left  a  daughter 

Young  and  unfriended,  who,  with  much  ado, 

I  wished  him  to  bring  hither :  he  did  so, 

And  went ;  and,  as  thou  know'st,  died  on  the  way. 

Unhappy  man,  to  buy  his  death  so  dear, 

With  my  advice !  yet  thou,  for  whom  I  did  it, 

Forgett'st  thy  vows,  and  leav'st  me  to  my  shame. 

Sor.  Who  could  help  this? 

Hip.  Who !  perjured  man,  thou  couldst, 

If  thou  hadst  faith  or  love. 

Sor.  You  are  deceived : 

The  vows  I  made,  if  you  remember  well, 
Were  wicked  and  unlawtul ;  'twere  more  sin 
To  keep  them  than  to  break  them :  as  for  me, 
I  cannot  mask  'my  penitence.     Think  thou 
How  much  thou  hast  digressed  from  honest  shame 
In  bringing  of  a  gentleman  to  death 
Who  was  thy  husband  ;  such  a  one  as  he, 
So  noble  in  his  quality,  condition, 
Learning,  behaviour,  entertainment,  love, 
As  Parma  could  not  show  a  braver  man. 

Fas.  You  do  not  well ;  this  was  not  your  promise. 

Sor.  I  care  not ;  let  her  know  her  monstrous  life.  . 
Ere  I'll  be  servile  to  so  black  a  sin, 
I'll  be  a  curse. — Woman,  come  here  no  more ; 
Learn  to  repent,  and  die  ;  for,  by  my  honour, 
I  hate  thee  and  thy  lust :  you've  been  too  foul.        \_Exit. 

Vas.  [Aside]  This  part  has  been  scurvily  played. 

////.  How  foolishly  this  beast  contemns  his  fate, 
And  shuns  the  use  of  that  which  I  more  scorn 
Than  I  once  loved,  his  love  !     But  let  him  go  \ 
My  vengeance  shall  give  comfort  to  his  woe.1         {Going. 

Vas.  Mistress,  mistress,   Madam    Hippolita  !    pray,  a 
word  or  two. 

Hip.  With  me,  sir  ? 

Vas.  With  you,  if  you  please. 

1  i '  e.  To  the  woe  occasioned  by  his  falsehood. 


ii2  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.       [ACT  II. 

Hip.  What  is't  ? 

Vas.  I  know  you  are  infinitely  moved  now,  and  you 
think  you  have  cause :  some  I  confess  you  have,  but  sure 
not  so  much  as  you  imagine. 

Hip.  Indeed  ! 

Vas.  O,  you  were  miserably  bitter,  which  you  followed 
even  to  the  last  syllable ;  'faith,  you  were  somewhat  too 
shrewd  :  by  my  life,  you  could  not  have  took  my  lord  in 
a  worse  time  since  I  first  knew  him  ;  to-morrow  you 
shall  find  him  a  new  man. 

Hip.  Well,  I  shall  wait  his  leisure. 

Vas.  Fie,  this  is  not  a  hearty  patience  ;  it  comes  sourly 
from  you  :  'troth,  let  me  persuade  you  for  once. 

Hip.  \Aside\  I  have  it,  and  it  shall  be  so  ;  thanks, 
opportunity  ! — Persuade  me  !  to  what  ? 

Vas.  Visit  him  in  some  milder  temper.  O,  if  you  could 
but  master  a  little  your  female  spleen,  how  might  you  win 
him  ! 

Hip.  He  will  never  love  me.  Vasques,  thou  hast  been 
a"  too  trusty  servant  to  such  a  master,  and  I  believe  thy 
reward  in  the  end  will  fall  out  like  mine. 

Vas.  So  perhaps  too. 

Hip.  Resolve  l  thyself  it  will.  Had  I  one  so  true,  so 
truly  honest,  so  secret  to  my  counsels,  as  thou  hast  been 
to  him  and  his,  I  should  think  it  a  slight  acquittance, 
not  only  to  make  him  master  of  all  I  have,  but  even  of 
myself. 

Vas.  O,  you  are  a  noble  gentlewoman  ! 

Hip.  Wilt  thou  feed  always  upon  hopes  ?  well,  I  know 
thou  art  wise,  and  seest  the  reward  of  an  old  servant 
daily,  what  it  is. 

Vas.  Beggary  and  neglect. 

Hip.  True  ;  but,  Vasques,  wert  thou  mine,  and  wouldst 
be  private  to  me  and  my  designs,  I  here  protest,  myself 
and  all  what  I  can  else  call  mine  should  be  at  thy  dis 
pose. 

1  Assure. 


SCIXEIII.]   'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  123 

/  'as.  \Aside\  Work  you  that  way,  old  mole  ?  then  I 
have  the  wind  of  you. — I  were  not  worthy  of  it  by  any 
desert  that  could  lie  within  my  compass  :  if  I  could— 

Hip.  What  then  ? 

Vas.  I  should  then  hope  to  live  in  these  my  old  years 
with  rest  and  security. 

Hip.  Give  me  thy  hand  :    now  promise  but  thy  si 
lence, 

And  help  to  bring  to  pass  a  plot  I  have, 
And  here,  in  sight  of  heaven,  that  being  done, 
I  make  the  lord  of  me  and  mine  estate. 

Vas.  Come,  you  are  merry  ;  this  is  such  a  happiness 
that  I  can  neither  think  or  believe. 

Hip.  Promise  thy  secrecy,  and  'tis  confirmed. 

Vas.  Then  here  I  call  our  good  genii  for  witnesses, 
whatsoever  your  designs  are,  or  against  whomsoever,  I 
will  not  only  be  a  special  actor  therein,  but  never  dis 
close  it  till  it  be  effected. 

Hip.   I  take  thy  word,  and,  with  that,  thee  for  mine  ; 
Come,  then,  let's  more  confer  of  this  anon. — 
On  this  delicious  bane  my  thoughts  shall  banquet ; 
Revenge  shall  sweeten  what  my  griefs  have  tasted. 

\Aside,  and  exit  with  VASQUES. 


SCENE  Ul.—T/ic  Street. 

Enter  RICHARDETTO  and  PHILOTIS. 

Rich.  Thou  seest,  my  lovely  niece,  these  strange  mis 
haps, 

How  all  my  fortunes  turn  to  my  disgrace  ; 
Wherein  I  am  but  as  a  looker-on, 
Whiles  others  act  my  shame,  and  I  am  silent. 

Phi.  But,  uncle,  wherein  can  this  borrowed  shape 
Give  you  content? 

Rich.  I'll  tell  thee.  gentle  niece  : 


124  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.       [ACT  n. 

Thy  wanton  aunt  in  her  lascivious  riots 
Lives  now  secure,  thinks  I  am  surely  dead 
In  my  late  journey  to  Ligorne  for  you,— 
As  I  have  caused  it  to  be  rumoured  out. 
Now  would  I  see  with  what  an  impudence 
She  gives  scope  to  her  loose  adultery, 
And  how  the  common  voice  allows  hereof: 
Thus  far  I  have  prevailed. 

Phi.  Alas,  I  fear 

You  mean  some  strange  revenge. 

Rich.  O,  be  not  troubled ; 

Your  ignorance  shall  plead  for  you  in  all : 
But  to  our  business. — What !  you  learned  for  certain 
How  Signer  Florio  means  to  give  his  daughter 
In  marriage  to  Soranzo? 

Phi.  Yes,  for  certain. 

Rich.  But  how  find  you  young  Annabella's  love 
Inclined  to  him  ? 

Phi.  For  aught  I  could  perceive, 

She  neither  fancies  him  or  any  else. 

Rich.  There's  mystery  in  *-^*t.  which  time  must  show. 
She  used  you  kindly? 

Phi.  Yes. 

Rich.  And  craved  your  company  ? 

Phi.  Often. 

Rich.  'Tis  well ;  it  goes  as  I  could  wish. 

I  am  the  doctor  now ;  and  as  for  you, 
None  knows  you  :  if  all  fail  not,  we  shall  thrive. — 
But  who  comes  here  ?     I  know  him  ;  'tis  Grimaldi, 
A  Roman  and  a  soldier,  near  allied 
Unto  the  Duke  of  Montferrato,  one 
Attending  on  the  nuncio  of  the  pope 
That  now  resides  in  Parma ;  by  which  means 
He  hopes  to  get  the  love  of  Annabella. 

Enter  GRIMALDI. 
Grim.  Save  you,  sir. 


SCENE  in.]   '77.?  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  125 

Rich.  And  you,  sir. 

Grim.  I  have  heard 

Of  your  approved  skill,  which  through  the  city 
Is  freely  talked  of,  and  would  crave  your  aid. 

Rich.  For  what,  sir  ? 

Grim.  Marry,  sir,  for  this — 
But  I  would  speak  in  private. 

Rich.  Leave  us,  cousin.1         \Exit  PHILOTIS. 

Grim.  I  love  fair  Annabella,  and  would  know 
Whether  in  art  there  may  not  be  receipts 
To  move  affection. 

Rich.  Sir,  perhaps  there  may  ; 

But  these  will  nothing  profit  you. 

Grim.  Not  me  ? 

Rich.  Unless  I  be  mistook,  you  are  a  man 
Greatly  in  favour  with  the  cardinal. 

Grim.  What  of  that  ? 

Rich.  In  duty  to  his  grace, 

I  will  be  bold  to  tell  you,  if  you  seek 
To  marry  Florio's  daughter,  you  must  first 
Remove  a  bar  'twixt  you  and  her. 

Grim.  Who's  that  ? 

Rich.  Soranzo  is  the  man  that  hath  her  heart ; 
And  while  he  lives,  be  sure  you  cannot  speed. 

Grim.  Soranzo  !  what,  mine  enemy  ?  is't  he  ? 

Rich.  Is  he  your  enemy? 

Grim.  The  man  I  hate 

Worse  than  confusion  ;  I  will  to  him  straight. 

Rich.  Nay,  then,  take  mine  advice, 
Even  for  his  grace's  sake  the  cardinal : 
I'll  find  a  time  when  he  and  she  do  meet, 
Of  which  I'll  give  you  notice ;  and,  to  be  sure 
He  shall  not  'scape  you,  I'll  provide  a  poison 
To  dip  your  rapier's  point  in  :  if  he  had 
As  many  heads  as  Hydra  had,  he  dies. 

Grim.  But  shall  I  trust  thee,  doctor  ? 

1  "  Cousin  "  was  frequently  used  for  nephew  or  niece. 


126  'TIS  PITY  SJZE'S  A   WHORE.       [ACT  n. 

Ricli.  As  yourself; 

Doubt  not  in  aught.     \Exit  GRIMALDI.] — Thus  shall 

the  fates  decree 
By  me  Soranzo  falls,  that  ruined  me,  \Exit. 


SCENE  IV.—  Another  part  of  the  Street. 

Enter  DONADO  with  a  letter,  BERGETTO,  and  POGGIO. 

Don.  Well,  sir,  I  must  be  content  to  be  both  your 
secretary  and  your  messenger  myself.  I  cannot  tell  what 
this  letter  may  work ;  but,  as  sure  as  I  am  alive,  if  thou 
come  once  to  talk  with  her,  I  fear  thou  wilt  mar  whatso 
ever  I  make. 

Ber.  You  make,  uncle !  why,  am  not  I  big  enough  to 
carry  mine  own  letter,  I  pray  ? 

Don.  Ay,  ay,  carry  a  fool's  head  o'  thy  own  !  why, 
thou  dunce,  wouldst  thou  write  a  letter,  and  carry  it 
thyself  ? 

Ber.  Yes,  that  I  would,  and  read  it  to  her  with  my 
own  mouth ;  for  you  must  think,  if  she  will  not  believe 
me  myself  when  she  hears  me  speak,  she  will  not  believe 
another's  handwriting.  O,  you  think  I  am  a  blockhead, 
uncle.  No,  sir,  Poggio  knows  I  have  indited  a  letter 
myself;  so  I  have. 

Pog.  Yes,  truly,  sir ;  I  havt  it  in  my  pocket. 

Don.  A  sweet  one,  no  doubt ;  pray  let's  see't. 

Ber.  I  cannot  read  my  own  hand  very  well,  Poggio ; 
read  it,  Poggio. 

Don.  Begin. 

Pog.  \Reads\  "  Most  dainty  and  honey-sweet  mistress ; 
I  could  call  you  fair,  and  lie  as  fast  as  any  that  loves 
you ;  but  my  uncle  being  the  elder  man,  I  leave  it  to 
him,  as  more  fit  for  his  age  and  the  colour  of  his  beard. 
I  am  wise  enough  to  tell  you  I  can  bourd  1  where  I  see 

1  Jest. 


sc  E  x  E  v .  ]      TfS  PITY  SHE 'S  A    WHORE.  1 2  7 

occasion  ;  or  if  you  like  my  uncle's  wit  better  than  mine 
you  shall  marry  me  ;  if  you  like  mine  better  than  his, 
I  will  marry  you,  in  spite  of  your  teeth.  So,  commend 
ing  my  best  parts  to  you,  I  rest 

Yours  upwards  and  downwards,  or  you  may  choose, 

Bergetto." 

Bcr.  Ah,  ha !  here's  stuff,  uncle ! 

Don.  Here's   stuff    indeed — to   shame   us   all.     Pray, 
-whose  advice  did  you  take  in  this  learned  letter? 

Pog.  None,  upon  my  word,  but  mine  own, 

Ber.  And  mine,  uncle,  believe  it,  nobody's  else ;  'twas 
mine  own  brain,  I  thank  a  good  wit  for't. 

Don.  Get  you  home,  sir,  and  look  you  keep  within 
doors  till  I  return. 

Ber.  How  !  that  were  a  jest  indeed  !  I  scorn  it,  i'faith. 

Don.  What !  you  do  not  ? 

Ber.  Judge  me,  but  I  do  now. 

Pog.  Indeed,  sir,  'tis  very  unhealthy. 

Don.  Well,  sir,  if  I  hear  any  of  your  apish  running  to 
motions1  and  fopperies,  till  I  come  back,  you  were  as 
good  no  ;  look  to't.  \Exit. 

Ber.  Poggio,  shall's  steal  to  tee  this  horse  with  the 
head  in's  tail  ? 

Pog.  Ay,  but  you  must  take  heed  of  whipping. 

Ber.  Dost  take  me  for  a  child,  Poggio  ?  Come, 
honest  Poggio.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  V.— Friar  BONAVENTUKA'S  Cell. 

Enter  Friar  and  GIOVANNI. 

Friar.  Peace  !  thou  hast  told  a  tale  whose  every  word 
Threatens  eternal  slaughter  to  the  soul ; 
I'm  sorry  I  have  heard  it :  would  mine  ears 
Had  been  one  minute  deaf,  befor  the  hour 

1    Pup  j-.et -shows. 


128  > 77S  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.       [ACT  11. 

That  thou  cam'st  to  me  !     O  young  man,  castaway, 
By  the  religious  number  '  of  mine  order, 
I  day  and  night  have  waked  my  aged  eyes 
Above  my  strength,  to  weep  on  thy  behalf; 
But  Heaven  is  angry,  and  be  thou  resolved  '- 
Thou  art  a  man  remarked 3  to  taste  a  mischief. 
Look  for't ;  though  it  come  late,  it  will  come  sure, 

Gio.  Father,  in  this  you  are  uncharitable  ; 
What  I  have  done  I'll  prove  both  fit  and  good. 
It  is  a  principle  which  you  have  taught, 
When  I  was  yet  your  scholar,  that  the  frame 
And  composition  of  the  mind  doth  follow 
The  frame  and  composition  of  the  body  : 
So,  where  the  body's  furniture  is  beauty, 
The  mind's  must  needs  be  virtue  ;  which  allowed, 
Virtue  itself  is  reason  but  refined, 
And  love  the  quintessence  of  that :  this  proves, 
My  sister's  beauty  being  rarely  fair 
Is  rarely  virtuous ;  chiefly  in  her  love, 
And  chiefly  in  that  love,  her  love  to  me : 
If  hers  to  me,  then  so  is  mine  to  her ; 
Since  in  like  causes  are  effects  alike. 

Friar.  O  ignorance  in  knowledge  !     Long  ago, 
How  often  have  I  warned  thee  this  before  ! 
Indeed,  if  we  were  sure  there  were  no  Deity, 
Nor  Heaven  nor  Hell,  then  to  be  led  alone 
By  Nature's  light — as  were  philosophers 
Of  elder  times — might  instance  some  defence. 
But  'tis  not  so  :  then,  madman,  thou  wilt  find 
That  Nature  is  in  Heaven's  positions  blind. 

Gio.  Your  age  o'errules  you ;  had  you  youth  like  mine, 
You'd  make  her  love  your  heaven,  and  her  divine. 

Friar.  Nay,  then  I  see  thou'rt  too  far  sold  to  hell : 
It  lies  not  in  the  compass  of  my  prayers 
To  call  thee  back,  yet  let  me  counsel  thee  ; 
Persuade  thy  sister  to  some  marriage. 

1  Gifford  proposed  "  founder."      2  Satisfied.      :3  Marked  out. 


SCEXEV.]     'TIS  PITY  SH&S  A    WHORE.  123 

Gio.  Marriage !  why,  that's   to   damn  her ;    that's  to 

prove 
Her  greedy  variety  of  lust. 

Friar.  O,  fearful  !  if  thou  wilt  not,  give  me  leave 
To  shrive  her,  lest  she  should  die  unabsolved. 

Gio.  At  your  best  leisure,  father  :  then  she'll  tell  you 
How  dearly  she  doth  prize  my  matchless  love  ; 
Then  you  will  know  what  pity  'twere  we  two 
Should  have  been  sundered  from  each  other's  arm?. 
View  well  her  face,  and  in  that  little  round 
You  may  observe  a  world  of  variety ; 
For  colour,  lips ;  for  sweet  perfumes,  her  breath  ; 
For  jewels,  eyes  :  for  threads  of  purest  gold, 
Hair ;  for  delicious  choice  of  flowers,  cheeks  ; 
Wonder  in  every  portion  of  that  form.1 
Hear  her  but  speak,  and  you  will  swear  the  spheres 
Make  music  to  the  citizens  in  Heaven. 
But,  father,  what  is  else  for  pleasure  framed 
Lest  I  offend  your  ears,  shall  go  unnamed. 

friar.  The  more  I  hearj  I  pity  thee  the  more, 
That  one  so  excellent  should  give  those  parts 
All  to  a  second  death.     What  I  can  do 
Is  but  to  pray;  and  yet— I  could  advise  thee, 
Wouldst  thou  be  ruled. 

Gio.  In  what  ? 

Friar.  Why  leave  her  yet ; 

The  throne  of  mercy  is  above  your  trespass  ; 
Yet  time  is  left  you  both — 

Gio.  To  embrace  each  other, 

Else  let  all  time  be  struck  quite  out  of  number  : 
She  is  like  me,  and  I  like  her,  resolved. 

Friar.  No  more  !  I'll  visit  her. — This  grieves  me  most. 
Things  being  thus,  a  pair  of  souls  are  lost.  \Excnut. 

1  "  Throne  "  in  the  old  edition. 


130  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.       [ACT  n. 

SCENE  VI.— A  Room  in  FLORIO'S  House. 
Enter  FLORIO,  DONADO,  ANNABELLA,  and  PUTANA. 

Flo.  Where's  Giovanni  ? 

Ann.  Newly  walked  abroad, 

And,  as  I  heard  him  say,  gone  to  the  friar, 
His  reverend  tutor. 

Flo.  That's  a  blessed  man, 

A  man  made  up  of  holiness  :  I  hope 
He'll  teach  him  how  to  gain  another  world. 

Don.  Fair  gentlewoman,  here's  a  letter  sent 
To  you  from  my  young  cousin ;  I  dare  swear 
He  loves  you  in  his  soul :  would  you  could  hear 
Sometimes  what  I  see  daily,  sighs  and  tears, 
As  if  his  breast  were  prison  to  his  heart ! 

Flo.  Receive  it,  Annabella. 

Ann.  Alas,  good  man  !  \Takes  the  letter. 

Don.  What's  that  she  said  ? 

Put.  An't  please  you,  sir,  she  said,  "Alas,  good  man  !" 
Truly  I  do  commend  him  to  her  every  night  before  her 
first  sleep,  because  I  would  have  her  dream  of  him ;  and 
she  hearkens  to  that  most  religiously. 

Don.  Sayestso?  God-a'-mercy,  Putana !  there's  some 
thing  for  thee  \Gives  her  moncy\ :  and  prithee  do  what 
thou  canst  on  his  behalf ;  'shall  not  be  lost  labour,  take 
ir.y  word  for't. 

Put.  Thank  you  most  heartily,  sir :  now  I  have  a  feel 
ing  of  your  mind,  let  me  alone  to  work. 

Ann.  Guardian, — 

Put.  Did  you  call  ? 

Ann.  Keep  this  letter. 

Don.  Signior  Florio,  in  any  case  bid  her  read  it  in 
stantly. 

Flo.  Keep  it !  for  what  ?  pray,  read  it  me  hereright. 

Ann.  I  shall,  sir.  \_She  reads  the  letter* 

Don.  How  d'ye  find  her  inclined,  signior  ? 

Flu.  Troth,  sir,  I  knbw  not  how ;  not  all  so  well 


SCENE  vi.]     'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  131 

As  I  could  wish. 

Ann.  Sir,  I  am  bound  to  rest  your  cousin's  debtor. 
•The  jewel  I'll  return  ;  for  if  he  love, 
I'll  count  that  love  a  jewel. 

Don.  Mark  you  that  ? 

Nay,  keep  them  both,  sweet  maid. 

Ann.  You  must  excuse  me, 

Indeed  I  will  not  keep  it. 

Flo.  Where's  the  ring, 

That  which  your  mother,  in  her  will,  bequeathed, 
And  charged  you  on  her  blessing  not  to  give  't 
To  any  but  your  husband  ?  send  back  that. 

Ann.  I  have  it  not. 

Flo.  Ha  !  have  it  not !  where  is't  ? 

Ann.  My  brother  in  the  morning  took  it  from  me, 
Said  he  would  wear't  to  day. 

Flo.  Well,  what  do  you  say 

To  young  Bergetto's  love  ?  are  you  content  to 
Match  with  him  ?  speak. 

Don.  There  is  the  point,  indeed. 

Ann.   \Aside\  .What  shall  I  do  ?     I  must  say  some 
thing  now. 

Flo.  What  say  ?  why  d'ye  not  speak  ? 

Ann.  Sir,  with  your  leave — 

Please  you  to  give  me  freedom  ? 

Flo.      •  Yes,  you  have  it. 

Ann.  Signior  Donado,  if  your  nephew  mean 
To  raise  his  better  fortunes  in  his  match, 
The  hope  of  me  will  hinder  such  a  hope  : 
Sir,  if  you  love  him,  as  I  know  you  do, 
Find  one  more  worthy  of  his  choice  than  me  : 
In  short,  I'm  sure  I  shall  not  be  his  wife. 

Don.  Why,   here's  plain   dealing ;    I    commend   thee 

for't ; 

And  all  the  worst  I  wish  thee  is,  Heaven  bless  thee ! 
Your  father  yet  and  I  will  still  be  friends: — 
Shall  we  not,  Signior  Florio  ? 


132  'TIS  PITY  SH£'S  A   WHORE.       [ACT  n. 

Flo.  Yes ;  why  not  ? 

Look,  here  your  cousin  comes. 

Enter  BERGETTO  and  POGGIO. 

Don.  [Aside]  G,  coxcomb  !  what  doth  he  make  here  ? 

Ber.  Where's  my  uncle,  sirs  ? 

Don.  What's  the  news  now? 

Ber.  Save  you,  uncle,  save  you  ! — You  must  not  think 
I  come  for  nothing,  masters. — And  how,  and  how  is't? 
what,  you  have  read  my  letter  ?  ah,  there  1 — tickled  you, 
i'faith. 

Pog.  [Aside  to  BERGETTO]  But  'twere  better  you  had 
tickled  her  in  another  place. 

Ber.  Sirrah  sweetheart,  I'll  tell  thee  a  good  jest ;  and 
riddle  what  'tis. 

Ann.  You  say  you'll  teli  me. 

Ber.  As  I  was  walking  just  now  in  the  street,  I  met  a 
swaggering  fellow  would  needs  take  the  wall  of  me  ;  and 
because  he  did  thrust  me,  I  very  valiantly  called  him 
rogue.  He  hereupon  bade  me  draw  ;  I  told  him  I  had 
more  wit  than  so ;  but  when  he  saw  that  I  would  not,  he 
did  so  maul  me  with  the  hilts  of  his  rapier,  that  my  head 
sung  whilst  my  feet  capered  in  the  kennel. 

Don.   [Aside]  Was  ever  the  like  ass  seen  ! 

Ann.  And  what  did  you  all  this  while  ? 

Ber.  Laugh  at  him  for  a  gull,  till  I  saw  the  blood  run 
about  mine  ears,  and  then  I  could  not  choose  but  find 
in  my  heart  to  cry ;  till  a  fellow  with  a  broad  beard — 
they  say  he  is  a  new-come  doctor — called  me  into  his 
house,  and  gave  me  a  plaster,  look  you,  here  'tis  : — and, 
sir,  there  was  a  young  wench  washed  my  face  and  hands 
most  excellently ;  i'  faith,  I  shall  love  her  as  long  as  I 
live  for't. — Did  she  not,  Poggio  ? 

Pog.  Yes,  and  kissed  him  too. 

Ber.  Why,  la,  now,  you  think  I  tell  a  lie,  uncle,  I 
warrant. 

Don.  Would  he  that  beat  thy  blood  out  of  thy  head 


SCENE  vi.]     'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  133 

had  beaten  some  wit  into  it !  for  I  fear  thou  never  wilt 
have  any. 

Ber.  O,  uncle,  but  there  was  a  wench  would  have 
done  a  man's  heart  good  to  have  looked  on  her. — By  this 
light,  she  had  a  face  methinks  worth  twenty  of  you, 
Mistress  Annabella. 

Don.  {Aside\  Was  ever  such  a  fool  born  ! 

Ann.  I  am  glad  she  liked1  you  sir. 

Ber.  Are  you  so  ?  by  my  troth,  I  thank  you,  forsooth. 

Flo.  Sure,  'twas  the  doctor's  niece,  that  was  last  day 
with  us  here. 

Ber.  'Twas  she,  'twas  she. 

Don.  How  do  you  know  that,  simplicity  ? 

Ber.  Why,  does  not  he  say  so  ?  if  I  should  have  said 
no,  I  should  have  given  him  the  lie,  uncle,  and  so  have 
deserved  a  dry  beating  again :  I'll  none  of  that. 

Flo.  A  very  modest  well-behaved  young  maid 
As  I  have  seen. 

Don.  Is  she  indeed  ? 

Flo.  Indeed  she  is,  if  I  have  any  judgment. 

Don.  Well,  sir,  now  you  are  free  :  you  need  not  care 
for  sending  letters  now  ;  you  are  dismissed,  your  mistress 
here  will  none  of  you. 

Ber.  No  !  why,  what  care  I  for  that?  I  can  have 
wenches  enough  in  Parma  for  half-a-crown  a-piece:  — 
cannot  I,  Poggio  ? 

/*',;•.  I'll  warrant  you,  sir. 

Don.  Signior  Florio, 

I  thank  you  for  your  free  recourse  you  gave 
For  my  admittance  :  and  to  you,  fair  maid, 
That  jewel  I  will  give  you  'gainst  your  marriage. — 
Come,  will  you  go,  sir  ? 

/>'<•/•.  Ay,  marry,  will  I. —  Mistress,  farewell,  mistress; 
I'll  come  again  to-morrow ;  farewell,  mistress. 

{Exeunt  DONADO,  BERGETTO,  and  POGGIO. 

1  i.e.  Pieascd. 


134  '27S  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.       [ACT  n. 

Enter  GIOVANNI. 

Flo,  Son,  where  have  you  been  ?  what,   alone,  alone 

still  ? 

I  would  not  have  it  so ;  you  must  forsake 
This  over-bookish  humour.     Well,  your  sister 
Hath  shook  the  fool  off. 

Gio.  'Twas  no  match  for  her. 

Flo.  'Twas  not  indeed  ;  I  meant  it  nothing  less ; 
Soranzo  is  the  man  I  only  like  : — 
Look  on  him,  Annabella. — Come,  'tis  supper-time, 
And  it  grows  late.  \_Exit. 

Gio.  Whose  jewel's  that  ? 

Ann.  Some  sweetheart's. 

Gio.  So  I  think. 

Ann.  A  lusty  youth, 

Signior  Donado,  gave  it  me  to  wear 
Against  my  marriage. 

*   Gio.  But  you  shall  not  wear  it : 

Send  it  him  back  again. 

Ann.  What,  you  are  jealous  ? 

Gio.  That  you  shall  know  anon,  at  better  leisure. 
Welcome  sweet  night !  the  evening  crowns  the  day. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 

SCENE  I.—  A  Room  in  DONADO'S  House. 
Enter  BERGETTO  and  POGGIO. 

ERGETTO.  Does  my  uncle  think  to 
make  me  a  baby  still  ?  No,  Poggio  ;  he 
shall  know  I  have  a  sconce1  now. 

Peg.  Ay,  let  him  not  bob  you  off  like 
an  ape  with  an  apple. 

Ber.  'Sfoot,  I  will  have  the  wench,  if 
he  were  ten  uncles,  in  despite  of  his  nose,  Poggio. 

Pog.  Hold  him  to  the  grindstone,  and  give  not  a  jot 
of  ground  :  she  hath  in  a  manner  promised  you  already. 
Ber.  True,  Poggio ;  and  her  uncle,  the  doctor,  swore 
I  should  marry  her. 

/'i>:j.  He  swore;  I  remember. 

Ber.  And  I  will  have  her,  that's  more:  didst  see  the 
codpiece-point  she  gave  me  and  the  box  of  marmalade  ? 
Pog.  Very  well ;  and  kissed  you,  that  my  chops  watered 
at  the  sight  on't.     There's  no  way  but  to  clap-up  a  mar 
riage  in  hugger-mugger. 

Ber.  I  will  do't ;  for  I  tell  thee,  Poggio,  I  begin  to 
grow  valiant  methinks,  and  my  courage  begins  to  rise. 
Pog.  Should  you  be  afraid  of  your  uncle  ? 
Ber.  Hang  him,  old  doting  rascal !  no  :  I  say  I  will 
have  her. 

Pog.  Lose  no  time,  then. 

Ber.  I  will  beget  a  race  of  wise  men  and  constables 

1  HC.U!. 


136  TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.       [ACT  m. 

that  shall    cart  whores  at  their  own   charges  ;  and  break 
the  duke's  peace  ere  I  have  done  myself.     Come  away. 

\Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.—  A  Room  in  TLORIO'S  House. 


Enter   FLORIO,   (GIOVANNI,    SORANZO,    ANNABELLA, 
PUTANA,  and  VASQUES. 

Flo.  My  Lord  Soranza,  though  I  must  confess 
The  proffers  that  are  made  me  have  been  great 
In  marriage  of  my  daughter,  yet  the  hope 
Of  your  still  rising  honours  have  prevailed 
Above  all  other  jointures  :  here  she  is ; 
She  knows  my  mind  ;  speak  for  yourself  to  her, — 
And  hear,  you,  daughter,  see  you  use  him  nobly : 
For  any  private  speech  I'll  give  you  time. — 
Come,  son,  and  you  the  rest ;  let  them  alone ; 
Agree  they  as  they  may. 

Sor.  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Gio.  {Aside  to  ANNABELI  A],  Sister,  be  not  all  woman ; 
think  on  me. 

Sor.  Vasques, — 

Vas.  My  lord  ? 

Sor.  Attend  me  without. 

\Excunt  all  but  SORANZO  and  ANNABELLA. 

Ann.  Sir,  what's  your  will  with  me  ? 

Sor.  Do  you  not  know 

What  I  should  tell  you  ? 

Ann.  Yes ;  you'll  say  you  love  me. 

Sor.  And  I  will  swear  it  too;  will  you  believe  it? 

Ann.  'Tis  no  point  of  faith. 

Enter  GIOVANNI  in  the  Gallery  above. 

Sor.  Have  you  not  will  to  love  ? 

Ann.  Not  you. 

Sor.  Whom  then  ? 


I.]      'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  137 

Ann.  That's  as  the  fates  infer. 

Gio,  [Aside]  Of  those  I'm  regent  now. 

Sor.  What  mean  you,  sweet  ? 

Ann.  To  live  and  die  a  maid. 

Sor.  O,  that's  unfit. 

Gio.  [Aside]  Here's  one  can  say  that's  but  a  woman's 
note. 

Sor.  Did    you   but   see    my   heart,    then   would   you 
swear — - 

Ann.  That  you  were  dead. 

Gio.  [Aside]  That's  true,  or  somewhat  near  it. 

Sor.  See  you  these  true  love's  tears  ? 

Ann.  No. 

Gio.   [Aside]  Now  she  winks. 

Sor.  They  plead  to  you  for  grace. 

Ann.  Yet  nothing  speak. 

Sor.  0,  grant  my  suit ! 

Ann.  What  is  it  ? 

Sor.  To  let  me  live — 

Ann.  Take  it. 

Sor.  Still  yours. 

Ann.  That  is  not  mine  to  give. 

Gio.  [Aside]  One  such   another  word  would  kill  his 
hopes. 

Sor.  Mistress,  to  leave  those  fruitless  strifes  of  wit, 
Know  I  have  loved  you  long  and  loved  you  truly : 
Not  hope  of  what  you  have,  but  what  you  are, 
Hath  drawn  me  on ;  then  let  me  not  in  vain 
Still  feel  the  rigour  of  your  chaste  disdain : 
I'm  sick,  and  sick  to  the  heart. 

Ann.  Help,  aqua-vitae  ! 

Sor.  What  mean  you  ? 

Ann.  Why,  I  thought  you  had  been  sick. 

Sor.  Do  you  mock  my  love  ? 

Gio.  [Aside]  There,  sir,  she  was  too  nimble. 

Sor.  [Asidc\   "1'is    plain    she    laughs   at    me. — These 
scornful  taunts 


138  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.       [ACT  in. 

Neither  become  your  modesty  or  years. 

Ann.  You  are  no  looking-glass  :  or  if  you  were, 
I'd  dress  my  language  by  you. 

Gio.   [Aside\  I'm  confirmed. 

Ann.  To  put  you  out  of  doubt,  my  lord,  methinks 
Your  common  sense  should  make  you  understand 
That  if  I  loved  you,  or  desired  your  love, 
Some  way  I  should  have  given  you  better  taste : 
But  since  you  are  a  nobleman,  and  one 
I  would  not  wish  should  spend  his  youth  in  hopes, 
Let  me  advise  you  to  forbear  your  suit, 
And  think  I  wish  you  well,  I  tell  you  this. 

Sor.  Is't  you  speak  this  ? 

Ann.  Yes,  I  myself;  yet  know,— 

Thus  far  I  give  you  comfort, — if  mine  eyes 
Could  have  picked  out  a  man  amongst  all  those 
That  sued  to  me  to  make  a  husband  of, 
You  should  have  been  that  man  :  let  this  suffice ; 
Be  noble  in  your  secrecy  and  wise. 

Gio.  \Asidc\  Why,  now  I  see  she  loves  me. 

Ann.  One  word  more. 

As  ever  virtue  lived  within  your  mind, 
As  ever  noble  courses  were  your  guide, 
As  ever  you  would  have  me  know  you  loved  me, 
Let  not  my  father  know  hereof  by  you : 
If  I  hereafter  find  that  I  must  marry, 
It  shall  be  you  or  none. 

Sor.  I  take  that  promise, 

Ann.  O,  O  my  head  ! 

Sor.  What's  the  matter  ?  not  well  ? 

Ann.  O,  I  begin  to  sicken ! 

Gio.  Heaven  forbid ! 

[Aside,  and  exit  from  above. 

Sor.  Help,  help,  within  there,  ho  ! 

Re-enter  FLORIO,  GIOVANNI,  and  PUTANA. 
Look  to  your  daughter,  Signior  Florio. 


SCENE  in.]     'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE. 


139 


Flo.  Hold  her  up,  she  swoons. 
Gio.  Sister,  how  d'ye  ? 

Ann.  Sick, — brother,  are  you  there? 

Flo.  Convey  her  to  her  bed  instantly,  whilst  I  send  for 
a  physician  :  quickly,  I  say. 

Put.  Alas,  poor  child  !  \_Exeunt  all  but  SORANZO. 

Re-enter  VASQUES. 

Vas.  My  lord, — 

Sor.  O,  Vasques,  now  I  doubly  am  undone 
Both  in  my  present  and  my  future  hopes ! 
She  plainly  told  me  that  she  could  not  love, 
And  thereupon  soon  sickened ;  and  I  fear 
Her  life's  in  danger. 

Vas.  [Aside]  By'r  lady,  sir,  and  so  is  yours,  it  you 
knew  all. — 'Las,  sir,  I  am  sorry  for  that :  may  be  'tis  but 
the  maid's-sickness,  an  over-flux  of  youth ;  and  then,  sir, 
there  is  no  such  present  remedy  as  present  marriage. 
But  hath  she  given  you  an  absolute  denial  ? 

Sor.  She  hath,  and  she  hath  not ;  I'm  full  of  grief: 
But  what  she  said  I'll  tell  thee  as  we  go.  \Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.— Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  GIOVANNI  and  PUTANA. 

Put.  O,  sir,  we  are  all  undone,  quite  undone,  utterly 
undone,  and  shamed  for  ever !  your  sister,  O,  your 
sister ! 

Gio.  What  of  her  ?  for  Heaven's  sake,  speak ;  how 
does  she  ? 

/'///.  O,  that  ever  I  was  born  to  see  this  day ! 

Gio.  She  is  not  dead,  ha  ?  is  she  ? 

Put.  Dead !  no,  she  is  quick ;  'tis  worse,  she  is  with 
child.  You  know  what  yo.u  have  done  ;  Heaven  forgive 
ye  !  'tis  too  late  to  repent  now,  Heaven  help  us ! 

Gio.  With  child  ?  how  dost  thou  know't  ? 


140  'TIS  PITY  SH£'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT  in. 

Put.  How  do  I  know't !  am  I  at  these  years  ignorant 
what  the  meanings  of  qualms  and  water-pangs  be?  of 
changing  of  colours,  queasiness  of  stomachs,  pukings, 
and  another  thing  that  I  could  name  ?  Do  not,  for  her 
and  your  credit's  sake,  spend  the  time  in  asking  how,  and 
which  way,  'tis  so  :  she  is  quick,  upon  my  word  :  if  you 
let  a  physician  see  her  water,  you're  undone. 

Gio.  But  in  what  case  is  she  ? 

Put.  Prettily  amended  :  'twas  but  a  fit,  which  I  soon 
espied,  and  she  must  look  for  often  henceforward. 

Gio.  Commend  me  to  her,  bid  her  take  no  care ; 1 
Let  not  the  doctor  visit  her,  I  charge  you ; 
Make  some  excuse,  till  I  return. — O,  me  ! 
I  have  a  world  of  business  in  my  head. — 
Do  not  discomfort  her. — 
How  do  these  news  perplex  me  ! — If  my  father 
Come  to  her,  tell  him  she's  recovered  well ;    ' 
Say  'twas  but  some  ill  diet — d'ye  hear,  woman? 
Look  you  to't. 

Put.  I  will,  sir.  ^  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV. — Another  I\.OOIH  in  t/ie  same. 
Enter  FLORIO  and  RICHARDETTO. 

Flo.  And  how  d'ye  find  her,  sir? 

Rich.  Indifferent  well 

I  see  no  danger,  scarce  perceive  she's  sick, 
But  that  she  told  me  she  had  lately  eaten 
Melons,  and,  as  she  thought,  those  disagreed 
With  her  young  stomach. 

Flo.  Did  you  give  her  aught  ? 

Rich.  An  easy  surfeit-water,  nothing  else. 
You  need  not  doubt  her  health  :  I  rather  think 
Her  sickness  is  a  fulness  of  the  blood, — 
You  understand  me  ? 

1  Xot  be  too  anxious. 


SCENE  iv.]    'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE,  141 

Flo.  I  do;  you  counsel  well; 

And  once,  within  these  few  days,  will  so  order  't 
She  shall  be  married  ere  she  know  the  time. 

Rich.  Yet  let  not  haste,  sir,  make  unworthy  choice ; 
That  were  dishonour. 

Flo. '  Master  Doctor,  no ; 

I  will  not  do  so  neither :  in  plain  words, 
My  Lord  Soranzo  is  the  man  I  mean. 

Rich.  A  noble  and  a  virtuous  gentleman. 

Flo.  As  any  is  in  Parma.     Not  far  hence 
Dwells  Father  Bonaventure,  a  grave  friar, 
Once  tutor  to  my  son  :  now  at  his  cell 
I'll  have  'em  married. 

Rich.  You  have  plotted  wisely. 

Flo.  I'll  send  one  straight  to  speak  with  him  to-night. 

Rich.  Soranzo's  wise  ;  he  will  delay  no  time. 

Flo.  It  shall  be  so. 

Enter  Friar  and  GIOVANNI. 

Friar.  Good  peace  be  here  and  love ! 

Flo.  Welcome,  religious  friar ;  you  are  one 
That  still  bring  blessing  to  the  place  you  come  to. 

Gio.  Sir,  with  what  speed  I  could,  I  did  my  best 
To  draw  this  holy  man  from  forth  his  cell 
To  visit  my  sick  sister;  that  with  words 
Of  ghostly  comfort,  in  this  time  of  need, 
He  might  absolve  her,  whether  she  live  or  die. 

Flo.  'Twas  well  done,  Giovanni ;  thou  herein 
Hast  showed  a  Christian's  care,  a  brother's  love. 
Come,  father,  I'll  conduct  you  to  her  chamber, 
And  one  thing  would  entreat  you. 

Friar.  Say  on,  sir. 

Flo.  I  have  a  father's  dear  impression 
And  wish,  before  I  fall  into  my  grave, 
That  I  might  see  her  married,  as  'tis  fit : 
A  word  from  you,  grave  man,  will  win  her  more 
Than  all  our  best  persuasions. 

Friar.  Gentle  sir, 

All  this  I'll  say,  that  Heaven  may  prosper  her.    {Exeunt. 


142  'TIS  PITY  SH&S  A    WHORE.    [ACT  ill. 

SCENE  V.—A  Room  in  RICHARDETTO'S  House. 

Enter  GRIMALDI. 

Grim.  Now  if  the  doctor  keep  his  word,  Soranzo, 
Twenty  to  one  you  miss  your  bride.     I  know 
'Tis  an  unnoble  act,  and  not  becomes 
A  soldier's  valour ;  but  in  terms  of  love, 
Where  merit  cannot  sway,  policy  must : 
I  am  resolved,  if  this  physician 
Play  not  on  both  hands,  then  Soranzo  falls. 

Enter  RICHARDETTO. 

Rich.  You're  come  as  I  could  wish ;  this  very  night 
Soranzo,  'tis  ordained,  must  be  affied  * 
To  Annabella,  and,  for  aught  I  know, 
Married. 

Grim,     How ! 

Rich.  Yet  your  patience  : — 

The  place,  'tis  Friar  Bonaventure's  cell. 
Now  I  would  wish  you  to  bestow  this  night 
In  watching  thereabouts  ;  'tis  but  a  night : 
If  you  miss  now,  to-morrow  I'll  know  all. 

Grim.  Have  you  the  poison  ? 

Rich.  Here  'tis,  in  this  box  ; 

Doubt  nothing,  this  will  do't ;  in  any  case, 
As  you  respect  your  life,  be  quick  and  sure. 

Grim.  I'll  speed  him. 

Rich.  Do. — Away;  for  'tis  not  safe 

You  should  be  seen  much  here.     Ever  my  love  ! 

Grim.  And  mine  to  you.  [Exit. 

Rich.  So  !  if  this  hit,  I'll  laugh  and  hug  revenge  ; 
And  they  that  now  dream  of  a  wedding-feast 
May  chance  to  mourn  the  lusty  bridegroom's  ruin. 
But  to  my  other  business. — Niece  Philotis  ! 

Enter  PHILOTIS. 

Phi.  Uncle? 

1  Contracted. 


SCENE  vi.]    'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  143 

Rich.  My  lovely  niece  ! 
You  have  bethought  ye  ? 

Phi.  Yes, — and,  as  you  counselled, 

Fashioned  my  heart  to  love  him  :  but  he  swears 
He  will  to-night  be  married  :  for  he  fears 
His  uncle  else,  if  he  should  know  the  drift, 
Will  hinder  all,  and  call  his  coz  to  shrift. 

Rich.  To-night !  why,  best  of  all :  but,  let  me  see — 
Ay — ha  !  yes,  so  it  shall  be — in  disguise 
We'll  early  to  the  friar's ;  I  have  thought  on't. 

Phi.  Uncle,  he  comes. 

Enter  BERGETTO  and  POGGIO. 

Rich.  Welcome,  my  worthy  coz. 

Ber.  Lass,  pretty  lass,  come  buss,  lass !  —  A-ha, 
Poggio  !  \Kisses  her. 

Rich.  [Aside.]  There's  hope  of  this  yet. — 
You  shall  have  time  enough ;  withdraw  a  little ; 
We  must  confer  at  large. 

Ber.  Have  you  not  sweetmeats  or  dainty  devices  for 
me? 

Phi.  You  shall  have  enough,  sweetheart. 

Ber.  Sweetheart !  mark  that,  Poggio. — By  my  troth,  I 
cannot  choose  but  kiss  thee  once  more  for  that  word, 
"sweetheart." — Poggio,  I  have  a  monstrous  swelling 
about  my  stomach,  whatsoever  the  matter  be. 

Pog.  You  shall  have  physic  for't,  sir. 

Rich.  Time  runs  apace. 

Ber.  Time's  a  blockhead. 

Rich.  Be  ruled  :  when  we  have  done  what's  fit  to  do, 
Then  you  may  kiss  your  fill,  and  bed  her  too.     [Exeunt. 


SCENE  VI.— ANNAHKLLA'S  Chamber. 

A  table  with  wax  lights ;  ANNABELLA  at  confession  before 

the  Friar  ;  she  weeps  and  wrings  her  hands. 
Friar.   I'm  glad  to  see  this  penance ;  for,  believe  me, 


144  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.       [ACT  in. 

You  have  unripped  a  soul  so  foul  and  guilty, 
As,  I  must  tell  you  true,  I  marvel  how 
The  earth  hath  borne  you  up  :  but  weep,  weep  on, 
These  tears  may  do  you  good  ;  weep  faster  yet, 
Whiles  I  do  read  a  lecture. 

Ann.  Wretched  creature  ! 

Friar.  Ay,  you  are  wretched,  miserably  wretched, 
Almost  condemned  alive.     There  is  a  place, — 
List,  daughter  ! — in  a  black  and  hollow  vault, 
Where  day  is  never  seen  ;  there  shines  no  sun, 
But  flaming  horror  of  consuming  fires, 
A  lightless  sulphur,  choked  with  smoky  fogs 
Of  an  infected  darkness :  in  this  place 
Dwell  many  thousand  thousand  sundry  sorts 
Of  never-dying  deaths :  there  damned  souls 
Roar  without  pity ;  there  are  gluttons  fed 
With  toads  and  adders  ;  there  is  burning  oil 
Poured  down  the  drunkard's  throat ;  the  usurer 
Is  forced  to  sup  whole  draughts  of  molten  gold  : 
There  is  the  murderer  for  ever  stabbed, 
Yet  can  he  never  die ;  there  lies  the  wanton 
On  racks  of  burning  steel,  whiles  in  his  soul 
He  feels  the  torment  of  his  raging  lust. 

Ann.  Mercy  !  0,  mercy  I 

Friar.  There  stand  these  wretched  things 

Who  have  dreamed  out  whole  years  in  lawless  sheets 
And  secret  incests,  cursing  one  another. 
Then  you  will  wish  each  kiss  your  brother  gave 
Had  been  a  dagger's  point;  then  you  shall  hear 
How  he  will  cry,  "  0,  would  my  wicked  sister 
Had  first  been  damned,  when  she  did  yield  to  lust !  "-— 
But  soft,  methinks  I  see  repentance  work 
New  motions  in  your  heart :  say,  how  is't  with  you  ? 

Ann.  Is  there  no  way  left  to  redeem  my  miseries  ? 

Friar.  There  is,  despair  not ;  Heaven  is  merciful, 
And  offers  grace  even  now.     'Tis  thus  agreed  : 
First,  for  your  honour's  safety,  that  you  marry 


SCENE  vii.]     'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.          145 

My  Lord  Soranzo  ;  next,  to  save  your  soul, 
Leave  off  this  life,  and  henceforth  live  to  him. 

Ann.  Ay  me ! 

Friar.  Sigh  not ;  I  know  the  baits  of  sin 

Are  hard  to  leave ;  O,  'tis  a  death  to  do't : 
Remember  what  must  come.     Are  you  content  ? 

Ann.  I  am. 

Friar.  I  like  it  well ;  we'll  take  the  time. — 

Who's  near  us  there  ? 

Enter  FLORIO  and  GIOVANNI. 

Flo.  Did  you  call,  father  ? 

Friar.  Is  Lord  Soranzo  come  ? 

Flo.  He  stays  below. 

Friar.  Have  you  acquainted  him  at  full  ? 

Flo.  I  have, 

And  he  is  overjoyed. 

Friar.  And  so  are  we. 

Bid  him  come  near. 

Gio.  {Aside]  My  sister  weeping  !     Ha ! 

I  fear  this  friar's  falsehood. — I  will  call  him.  {Exit 

Flo.  Daughter,  are  you  resolved  ? 

Ann.  Father,  I  am. 

Re-enter  GIOVANNI  with  SORANZO  and  VASQUES. 

Flo.  My  Lord  Soranzo,  here 
Give  me  your  hand ;  for  that  I  give  you  this. 

{Joins  their  hands. 
Sor.  Lady,  say  you  so  too  ? 
Ann.  I  do,  and  vow 

To  live  with  you  and  yours. 

Friar.  Timely  resolved : 

My  blessing  rest  on  both  !     More  to  be  done, 

You  may  perform  it  on  the  morning  sun.          {Exeunt. 


Ford. 


146  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A   WHORE.      [ACT  HI. 

SCENE  VII.— The  Street  before  the  Monastery. 

Enter  GRIMALDI  with  his  rapier  drawn  and  a  dark  lantern. 

Grim.  'Tis  early  night  as  yet,  and  yet  too  soon 
To  finish  such  a  work ;  here  I  will  lie 
To  listen  who  comes  next.  \He  lies  down. 

Enter  BERGETTO  and  PHILOTIS  disguised,  followed  at  a 
short  distance  by  RICHARDETTO  and  POGGIO. 

Ber.  We  are  almost  at  the  place,  I  hope,  sweetheart. 

Grim.  \Aside\  I  hear  them  near,  and  heard  one  say 

"  sweetheart." 

'Tis  he  ;  now  guide  my  hand,  some  angry  justice, 
Home  to  his  bosom  ! — Now  have  at  you,  sir  ! 

\Stabs  BERGETTO  and  exit. 

Ber.  O,  help,  help  !  here's  a  stitch  fallen  in  my  guts : 
O  for  a  flesh-tailor  quickly ! — Poggio  ! 

Phi.  What  ails  my  love  ? 

-  Ber.  I  am  sure  I  cannot  piss  forward  and  backward, 
and  yet  I  am  wet  before  and  behind. — Lights !  lights  ! 
ho,  lights ! 

Phi.  Alas,  some  villain  here  has  slain  my  love  ! 

Rich.  0,  Heaven  forbid  it ! — Raise  up  the  next  neigh 
bours 

Instantly,  Poggio,  and  bring  lights.  [Exit  POGGIO. 

How  is't,  Bergetto  ?  slain !     It  cannot  be  ; 
Are  you  sure  you're  hurt  ? 

Ber.  O,  my  belly  seethes  like  a  porridge-pot !  Some 
cold  water,  I  shall  boil  over  else  ;  my  whole  body  is  in 
a  sweat,  that  you  may  wring  my  shirt ;  feel  here. — Why, 
Poggio ! 

Re-enter  POGGIO  with  Officers  and  lights. 

Pog.  Here.     Alas,  how  do  you  ? 

Rich.  Give  me  a  light. — What's  here?  all  blood  ! — 0, 

sirs, 
Signior  Donado's  nephew  now  is  slain. 


SCENE  vii j.]   'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A   WHORE.          147 

Follow  the  murderer  with  all  the  haste 
Up  to  the  city,  he  cannot  be  far  hence  : 
Follow,  I  beseech  you. 

Officers.  Follow,  follow,  follow  !     {Exeunt. 

Rich.  Tear  off  thy  linen,  coz,  to  stop  his  wounds. — 
Be  of  good  comfort,  man. 

Ber.  Is  all  this  mine  own  blood?  nay,  then,  good 
night  with  me. — Poggio,  commend  me  to  my  uncle, 
dost  hear?  bid  him,  for  my  sake,  make  much  of  this 
wench. — O,  I  am  going  the  wrong  way  sure,  my  belly 
aches  so. — O,  farewell,  Poggio  ! — O,  O  !  \Dies. 

Phi.  0,  he  is  dead  ! 

Pog.  How  !  dead  ! 

Rich.  He's  dead  indeed ; 

'Tis  now  too  late  to  weep  :  let's  have  him  home, 
And  with  what  speed  we  may  find  out  the  murderer. 

Pog.  O,  my  master  !  my  master !  my  master ! 

\Exeunt. 


SCENE  VIII.— A  Room  in  HIPPOLITA'S  House. 
Enter  VASQUES  and  HIPPOLITA. 

Hip.  Betrothed? 

Vas.  I  saw  it. 

Hip.  And  when's  the  marriage-day  ? 

Vas.  Some  two  days  hence. 

Hip,  Two  days  !   why,  man,   I  would  but  wish  two 

hours 

To  send  him  to  his  last  and  lasting  sleep ; 
And,  Vasques,  thou  shalt  see  I'll  do  it  bravely. 

Vas.  I  do  not  doubt  your  wisdom,  nor,  I  trust,  you 
my  secrecy ;  I  am  infinitely  yours. 

Hip.  I  will  be  thine  in  spite  of  my  disgrace. — 
So  soon  ?     O  wicked  man,  I  durst  be  sworn 
He'd  laugh  to  see  me  weep. 


148  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.      [ACT  in. 

Vas.  And  that's  a  villanous  fault  in  him. 
Hip.  No,  let  him  laugh ;  I'm    armed  in  my  resolves : 

Be  thou  still  true. 

Vas.  I  should  get  little  by  treachery  against  so  hopeful 

a  preferment  as  I  am  like  to  climb  to. 

Hip.  Even  to — my  bosom,  Vasques.     Let  my  youth 

Revel  in  these  new  pleasures  :  if  we  thrive, 

He  now  hath  but  a  pair  of  days  to  live.  [Exeunt, 


SCENE  IX. — The  Street  before  the  Cardinal's  Gates. 

Enter    FLORIO,    DONADO,    RICHARDETTO,   POGGIO,  and 
Officers. 

Flo.  'Tis  bootless  now  to  show  yourself  a  child,    . 
Signior  Donado  ;  what  is  done,  is  done  : 
Spend  not  the  time  in  tears,  but  seek  for  justice. 

Rich.  I  must  confess  somewhat  I  was  in  fault 
That  had  not  first  acquainted  you  what  love 
Passed  'twixt  him  and  my  niece  ;  but,  as  I  live, 
His  fortune  grieves  me  as  it  were  mine  own. 

Don.  Alas,  poor  creature  !  he  meant  no  man  harm. 
That  I  am  sure  of. 

Flo.  I  believe  that  too. 

But  stay,  my  masters :  are  you  sure  you  saw 
The  murderer  pass  here  ? 

\st  Off.  An  it  please  you,  sir,  we  are  sure  we  saw  a 
ruffian,  with  a  naked  weapon  in  his  hand  all  bloody,  get 
into  my  lord  cardinal's  grace's  gate ;  that  we  are  sure  of ; 
but  for  fear  of  his  grace — bless  us  ! — we  durst  go  no 
farther. 

Don.  Know  you  what  manner  of  man  he  was  ? 

ist  Off.  Yes,  sure,  I  know  the  man ;  they  say  he  is  a 
soldier ;  he  that  loved  your  daughter,  sir,  an't  please  ye  ; 
'twas  he  for  certain. 

Flo.  Grimaldi,  on  my  life  ! 


SCKXK  ix.]    'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  149 

\st  Off.  ~  Ay,  ay,  the  same. 

Rich.  The  cardinal  is  noble  ;  he  no  doubt 
Will  give  true  justice. 

Don.  Knock  some  one  at  the  gate. 

Pog.  I'll  knock,  sir.  \Knocks. 

Serv.  [lVithin.~\  What  would  ye? 

Flo.  We  require  speech  with  the  lord  cardinal 
About  some  present  business  :  pray  inform 
His  grace  that  we  are  here. 

Enter  the  Cardinal,  followed  by  GRIMALDI. 

Car.  Why,  how  now,  friends !   what  saucy  mates  are 

you 

That  know  nor  duty  nor  civility  ? 
Are  we  a  person  fit  to  be  your  host ; 
Or  is  our  house  become  your  common  inn, 
To  beat  our  doors  at  pleasure  ?     What  such  haste 
Is  yours,  as  that  it  cannot  wait  fit  times  ?  , 
Are  you  the  masters  of  this  commonwealth, 
And  know  no  more  discretion?     O,  your  news 
Is  here  before  you ;  you  have  lost  a  nephew, 
Donado,  last  night  by  Grimaldi  slain  : 
Is  that  your  business  ?  well,  sir,  we  have  knowledge  on't ; 
Let  that  suffice. 

Grim.  In  presence  of  your  grace, 

In  thought  I  never  meant  Bergetto  harm  : 
But,  Florio,  you  can  tell  with  how  much  scorn 
Soranzo,  backed  with  his  confederates, 
Hath  often  wronged  me  ;  I  to  be  revenged, — 
For  that  I  could  not  win  him  else  to  fight, — 
Had  thought  by  way  of  ambush  to  have  killed  him, 
But  was  unluckily  therein  mistook  ; 
Else  he  had  felt  what  late  Bergetto  did  : 
And  though  my  fault  to  him  were  merely  chance, 
Yet  humbly  I  submit  me  to  your  grace,  [Kneeling. 

To  do  with  me  as  you  please. 

Car.  Rise  up,  Grimaldi. — [He  rises. 


ISO  'TIS  PITY  Sff£>S  A   WHORE.    [ACT  in. 

You  citizens  of  Parma,  if  you  seek 

For  justice,  know,  as  nuncio  from  the  pope, 

For  this  offence  I  here  receive  Grimaldi 

Into  his  holiness'  protection  : 

He  is  no  common  man,  but  nobly  bom, 

Of  princes'  blood,  though  you,  Sir  Florio, 

Thought  him  too  mean  a  husband  for  your  daughter. 

If  more  you  seek  for,  you  must  go  to  Rome, 

For  he  shall  thither  :  learn  more  wit,  for  shame. — 

Bury  your  dead. — Away,  Grimaldi ;  leave  'em  ! 

\Exeunt  Cardinal  and  GRIMALDI. 

Don.  Is  this  a  churchman's  voice  ?  dwells  justice  here  ? 

Flo.  Justice  is  fled  to  Heaven,  and  comes  no  nearer. 
Soranzo ! — was't  for  him  ?     O,  impudence  ! 
Had  he  the  face  to  speak  it,  and  not  blush  ? 

Come,  come,  Donado,  there's  no  help  in  this, 

When  cardinals  think  murder's  not  amiss. 

Great  men  may  do  their  wills,  we  must  obey ; 

But  Heaven  will  judge  them  for't  another  day.  \Exeutit. 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

SCENE  I.—  A  Room  in  FLORIO'S  House. 

A  banquet  set  out ;  hautboys.     Enter  the  Friar,  GIOVANNI, 
ANNABELLA,  PHILOTIS,  SORANZO,  DONADO,  FLORID, 

RlCHARDETTO,  PUTANA,  and  VASQUES. 

RIAR.  These  holy  rites  performed,  now 

take  your  times 
To   spend   the  remnant  of  the  day  in 

feast : 
Such   fit   repasts    are   pleasing   to   the 

saints, 

Who  are  your  guests,  though  not  with 
To  be  beheld. — Long  prosper  in  this  day,  [mortal  eyes 
You  happy  couple,  to  each  other's  joy  ! 

Sor.  Father,  your  prayer  is  heard  ;  the  hand  of  good 
ness 

Hath  been  a  shield  for  me  against  my  death  : 
And,  more  to  bless  me,  hath  enriched  my  life 
With  this  most  precious  jewel;  such  a  prize 
As  earth  hath  not  another  like  to  this. — 
Cheer  up,  my  love : — and,  gentlemen  my  friends, 
Rejoice  with  me  in  mirth  :  this  day  we'll  crown 
With  lusty  cups  to  Annabella's  health. 

Gio.  \^Aside\  O  torture !  were  the  marriage  yet  undone, 
Ere  I'd  endure  this  sight,  to  see  my  love 
Clipt l  by  another,  I  would  dare  confusion, 
And  stand  the  horror  of  ten  thousand  deaths. 
1  Embraced. 


152  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.      [ACT  iv. 

Vas.  Are  you  not  well,  sir  ? 

Gio.  Prithee,  fellow,  wait ; 

I  need  not  thy  officious  diligence. 

Flo.  Signior  Donado,  come,  you  must  forget 
Your  late  mishaps,  and  drown  your  cares  in  wine. 

Sor.  Vasques ! 

Vas.  My  lord  ? 

Sor.  Reach  me  that  weighty  bowl. 

Here,  brother  Giovanni,  here's  to  you  ; 
Your  turn  come  next,  though  now  a  bachelor ; 
Here's  to  your  sister's  happiness  and  mine  ! 

\Drinks  and  offers  him  the  bowl. 

Gio.  I  cannot  drink. 

Sor.  What ! 

Gio.  'Twill  indeed  offend  me. 

Ann.  Pray,  do  not  urge  him,  if  he  be  not  willing. 

[Hautboys. 

Flo.  How  now !  what  noise  *  is  this  ? 

Vas.  O,  sir,  I  had  forgot  to  tell  you  ;  certain  young 
maidens  of  Parma,  in  honour  to  Madam  Annabella's 
marriage,  have  sent  their  loves  to  her  in  a  Masque,  for 
which  they  humbly  crave  your  patience  and  silence. 

Sor.  We  are  much  bound  to  them ;  so  much  the  more 
As  it  comes  unexpected  :  guide  them  in. 

Enter  HIPPOLITA,  followed  by  Ladies  in  white  robes  with 
garlands  of  willows,  all  masked.    Music  and  a  dance. 

Thanks,  lovely  virgins  !  now  might  we  but  know 
To  whom  we've  been  beholding  for  this  love, 
We  shall  acknowledge  it. 

Hip.  Yes,  you  shall  know.   [  Unmasks. 

What  think  you  now  ? 

All.  Hippolita ! 

Hip.  'Tis  she  ; 

Be  not  amazed  ;  nor  blush,  young  lovely  bride ; 
I  come  not  to  defraud  you  of  your  man  : 

1  Music. 


SCENE  I.]    'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  153 

Tis  now  no  time  to  reckon-up  the  talk 
What  Parma  long  hath  rumoured  of  us  both  : 
Let  rash  report  run  on  ;  the  breath  that  vents  it 
Will,  like  a  bubble,  break  itself  at  last. 
But  now  to  you,  sweet  creature ;  lend's  your  hand  ; — 
Perhaps  it  hath  been  said  that  I  would  claim 
Some  interest  in  Soranzo,  now  your  lord  ; 
What  I  have  right  to  do,  his  soul  knows  best: 
But  in  my  duty  to  your  noble  worth, 
Sweet  Annabella,  and  my  care  of  you, — 
Here,  take,  Soranzo,  take  this  hand  from  me ; 
I'll  once  more  join  what  by  the  holy  church 
Is  finished  and  allowed. — Have  I  done  well  ? 
Sor.  You  have  too  much  engaged  us. 
Hip.  One  thing  more. 

That  you  may  know  my  single l  charity, 
Freely  I  here  remit  all  interest 
I  e'er  could  claim,  and  give  you  back  your  vows ; 
And  to  confirm't, — reach  me  a  cup  of  wine, — 

[VASQUES  gives  her  a  poisoned  cup. 
My  Lord  Soranzo,  in  this  draught  I  drink 
Long  rest  t'ye  !  [She  drinks]. — [Aside  to  VASQUES]  Look 

to  it,  Vasques. 

Vas.  [Aside  to  HIPPOLITA]  Fear  nothing. 
Sor.  Hippolita,  I  thank  you;  and  will  pledge 
This  happy  union  as  another  life.— 
Wine,  there ! 

Vas.  You  shall  have  none ;  neither  shall  you  pledge 
her. 

Hip.  How  ! 

Vas.  Know  now,  Mistress  She-devil,  your  own  mis 
chievous  treachery  hath  killed  you ;  I  must  not  marry 
you. 

Hip.  Villain! 

All.  What's  the  matter? 

Vas.  Foolish  woman,  thou  art  now  like   a  firebrand 

1  Single-minded. 


154  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.      [ACT  IV. 

that  hath  kindled  others  and  burnt  thyself: — troppo  sperar, 
inganna,1 — thy  vain  hope  hath  deceived  thee ;  thou  art 
but  dead ;  if  thou  hast  any  grace,  pray. 

Hip.  Monster ! 

Fas.  Die  in  charity,  for  shame. — This  thing  of  malice, 
this  woman,  had  privately  corrupted  me  with  promise  of 
marriage,  under  this  politic  reconciliation,  to  poison  my 
lord,  whiles  she  might  laugh  at  his  confusion  on  his  mar 
riage-day.  I  promised  her  fair;  but  I  knew  what  my 
reward  should  have  been,  and  would  willingly  have 
spared  her  life,  but  that  I  was  acquainted  with  the  danger 
of  her  disposition ;  and  now  have  fitted  her  a  just  pay 
ment  in  her  own  coin  :  there  she  is,  she  hath  yet2 — 
and  end  thy  days  in  peace,  vile  woman ;  as  for  life,  there's 
no  hope ;  think  not  on't. 

All.  Wonderful  justice  ! 

Rich.  Heaven,  thou  art  righteous. 

Hip.  0,  'tis  true  ; 

I  Teel  my  minute  coming.     Had  that  slave 
Kept  promise, — O,  my  torment ! — thou  this  hour 
Hadst  died,  Soranzo; — heat  above  hell-fire  ! — 
Yet,  ere  I  pass  away, — cruel,  cruel  flames  ! — 
Take  here  my  curse  amongst  you  :  may  thy  bed 
Of  marriage  be  a  rack  unto  thy  heart, 
Burn  blood,  and  boil  in  vengeance ; — O,  my  heart, 
My  flame's  intolerable ! — mayst  thou  live 
To  father  bastards ;  may  her  womb  bring  forth 
Monsters, — and  die  together  in  your  sins, 
Hated,  scorned,  and  unpitied  ! — O,  O  !  [Dies. 

Flo.  Was  e'er  so  vile  a  creature ! 

Rich.  Here're  the  end 

Of  lust  and  pride. 

Ann.  It  is  a  fearful  sight. 

Sor.  Vasques,  I  know  thee  now  a  trusty  servant, 

1  Too  much  hope  brings  disappointment. 

2  The  old  copy  has  a  considerable  double  break  here,  probably 
from  some  defect  in  the  MS. 


SCENE  II.]   'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  155 

And  never  will  forget  thee. — Come,  my  love, 
We'll  home,  and  thank  the  heavens  for  this  escape. — 
Father  and  friends,  we  must  break  up  this  mirth ; 
It  is  too  sad  a  feast. 

Don.  Bear  hence  the  body. 

Friar.    \Aside    to    GIOVANNI]     Here's    an    ominous 

change  ! 
Mark  this,  my  Giovanni,  and  take  heed  ! —  x 

I  fear  the  event :  that  marriage  seldom's  good 

Where  the  bride-banquet  so  begins  in  blood.  {Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.—  A  Room  in  RICHARDETTO'S  House. 
Enter  RICHARDETTO  and  PHILOTIS. 

Rich.  My  wretched  wife,  more  wretched  in  her  shame 
Than  in  her  wrongs  to  me,  hath  paid  too  soon 
The  forfeit  of  her  modesty  and  life. 
And  I  am  sure,  my  niece,  though  vengeance  hover, 
Keeping  aloof  yet  from  Soranzo's  fall, 
Yet  he  will  fall,  and  sink  with  his  own  weight. 
I  need  not  now — my  heart  persuades  me  so — 
To  further  his  confusion ;  there  is  One  f 
Above  begins  to  work  :  for,  as  I  hear, 
Debates  already  'twixt  his  wife  and  him 
Thicken  and  run  to  head ;  she,  as  'tis  said, 
Slightens  his  love,  and  he  abandons  hers : 
Much  talk  I  hear.     Since  things  go  thus,  my  niece, 
In  tender  love  and  pity  of  your  youth, 
My  counsel  is,  that  you  should  free  your  years 
From  hazard  of  these  woes  by  flying  hence 
To  fair  Cremona,  there  to  vow  your  soul 
In  holiness,  a  holy  votaress  : 
Leave  me  to  see  the  end  of  these  extremes. 
All  human  worldly  courses  are  uneven  ; 
No  life  is  blessed  but  the  way  to  Heaven. 


156 


'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.      [ACT  IV, 


Phi.  Uncle,  shall  I  resolve  to  be  a  nun  ? 

Rich.  Ay,  gentle  niece  ;  and  in  your  hourly  prayers 
Remember  me,  your  poor  unhappy  uncle. 
Hie  to  Cremona  now,  as  fortune  leads, 
Your  home  your  cloister,  your  best  friends  your  beads  : 
Your  chaste  and  single  life  shall  crown  your  birth : 
Who  dies  a  virgin  lives  a  saint  on  earth. 

Phi.  Then    farewell,   world,    and    worldly    thoughts, 

adieu  ! 
Welcome,  chaste  vows ;  myself  I  yield  to  you.     {Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.—  A  Chamber  in  S.ORANZO'S  House. 
Enter  SORANZO  unbraced,  and  dragging  in  ANNABELLA. 

Sor.  Come,  strumpet,  famous  whore  !  were  every  drop 
Of  blood  that  runs  in  thy  adulterous  veins 
A  life,  this  sword — dost  see't  ? — should  in  one  blow 
Confound  them  all.     Harlot,  rare,  notable  harlot, 
That  with  thy  brazen  face  maintain'st  thy  sin, 
Was  there  no  man  in  Parma  to  be  bawd 
To  your  loose  cunning  whoredom  else  but  I  ? 
Must  your  hot  itch  and  plurisy  of  lust, 
The  heyday  of  your  luxury,1  be  fed 
Up  to  a  surfeit,  and  could  none  but  I 
Be  picked  out  to  be  cloak  to  your  close  tricks, 
Your  belly  sports?     Now  I  must  be  the  dad 
To  all  that  gallimaufry  that  is  stuffed 
In  thy  corrupted  bastard-bearing  womb  ! 
Say,  must  I  ? 

Ann.  Beastly  man  !  why,  'tis  thy  fate. 

I  sued  not  to  thee  ;  for,  but  that  I  thought 
Your  over-loving  lordship  would  have  run 
Mad  on  denial,  had  ye  lent  me  time, 
I  would  have  told  ye  in  what  case  I  was : 
But  you  would  needs  be  doing. 

1  Luxury  was  commonly  used  in  the  sense  of  lust. 


SCENE  ill.]    'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  157 

Sor.  Whore  of  whores  ! 

Darest  thou  tell  me  this  ? 

Ann.  O,  yes ;  why  not  ? 

You  were  deceived  in  me  ;  'twas  not  for  love 
I  chose  you,  but  for  honour  :  yet  know  this, 
Would  you  be  patient  yet,  and  hide  your  shame, 
I'd  see  whether  I  could  love  you. 

Sor.  Excellent  quean  ! 

Why,  art  thou  not  with  child  ? 

Ann.  What  needs  all  this, 

When  'tis  superfluous  ?     I  confess  I  am. 

Sor.  Tell  me  by  whom. 

Ann.  Soft !  'twas  not  in  my  bargain. 

Yet  somewhat,  sir,  to  stay  your  longing  stomach, 
I  am  content  t'  acquaint  you  with ;  the  man, 
The  more  than  man,  that  got  this  sprightly  boy, — 
For  'tis  a  boy,  and  therefore  glory,  sir, 
Your  heir  shall  be  a  son  — 

Sor.  Damnable  monster  ! 

Ann.  Nay,  an  you  will  not  hear,  I'll  speak  no  more. 

Sor.  Yes,  speak,  and  speak  thy  last. 

Ann.  A  match  !  a  match  ! 

This  noble  creature  was  in  every  part 
So  angel-like,  so  glorious,  that  a  woman 
Who  had  not  been  but  human,  as  was  I, 
Would  have  kneeled  to  him,  and  have  begged  for  love. — 
You  !  why,  you  are  not  worthy  once  to  name 
His  name  without  true  worship,  or,  indeed, 
Unless  you  kneeled,  to  hear  another  name  him. 

Sor.  What  was  he  called  ? 

Ann.  We  are  not  come  to  that ; 

Let  it  suffice  that  you  shall  have  the  glory 
To  father  what  so  brave  a  father  got. 
In  brief,  had  not  this  chance  fall'n  out  as't  doth, 
I  never  had  been  troubled  with  a  thought 
That  you  had  been  a  creature : — but  for  marriage, 
I  scarce  dream  yet  of  that. 


158  TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A   WHORE.      [ACT  iv. 

Sor.  Tell  me  his  name. 

Ann.  Alas,  alas,  there's  all !  will  you  believe  ? 

Sor.  What? 

Ann.  You  shall  never  know. 

Sor.  How ! 

Ann.  Never  :  if 

You  do,  let  me  cursed  ! 

Sor.  Not  know  it,  strumpet !  I'll  rip  up  thy  heart, 
And  find  it  there. 

Ann.  Do,  do. 

Sor.  And  with  my  teeth 

Tear  the  prodigious  lecher  joint  by  joint. 

Ann.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  the  man's  merry. 

Sor.  Dost  thou  laugh  ? 

Come,  whore,  tell  me  your  lover,  or,  by  truth, 
I'll  hew  thy  flesh  to  shreds ;  who  is't  ? 

Ann.   \Sings\    Che    morte   piii    dolce    che    morire  per 
amore  ?  1 

Sor.  Thus  will  I  pull  thy  hair,  and  thus  I'll  drag 
Thy  lust-be-lepered  body  through  the  dust. 

[ffa/es  her  up  and  down. 
Yet  tell  his  name. 

Ann.  \Sings\  Morendo    in    grazia    dee    morire    senza 
dolore." 

Sor.  Dost    thou    triumph?      The    treasures    of    the 

earth 

Shall  not  redeem  thee ;  were  there  kneeling  kings 
Did  beg  thy  life,  or  angels  did  come  down 
To  plead  in  tears,  yet  should  not  all  prevail 
Against  my  rage  :  dost  thou  not  tremble  yet  ? 

Ann.  At  what  ?  to  die  !  no,  be  a  gallant  hangman ; 3 
I  dare  thee  to  the  worst :  strike,  and  strike  home  ; 
I  leave  revenge  behind,  and  thou  shalt  feel't. 

Sor.  Yet  tell  me  ere  thou  diest,  and  tell  me  truly, 
Knows  thy  old  father  this  ? 

1  What  death  sweeter  than  to  die  for  love  ? 

2  To  die  in  grace  is  to  die  without  sorrow. 

3  Executioner. 


SCENE  in.]   'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  159 

Ann.  No,  by  my  life. 

Sor.  Wilt  thou  confess,  and  I  will  spare  thy  life  ? 
Ann,  My  life  !  I  will  not  buy  my  life  so  dear. 
Sor.  I  will  not  slack  my  vengeance. 

[Draws  his  sword. 

Enter  VASQUES. 

Vas.  What  d'ye  mean,  sir  ? 

Sor.  Forbear,  Vasques  ;  such  a  damned  whore 
Deserves  no  pity. 

Vas.  Now  the  gods  forfend  ! 

And  would  you  be  her  executioner,  and  kill  her  in  your 
rage  too  ?  O,  'twere  most  unmanlike.  She  is  your  wife : 
what  faults  have  been  done  by  her  before  she  married 
you  were  not  against  you  :  alas,  poor  lady,  what  hath 
she  committed,  which  any  lady  in  Italy,  in  the  like  case, 
would  not  ?  Sir,  you  must  be  ruled  by  your  reason,  and 
not  by  your  fury ;  that  were  unhuman  and  beastly. 

Sor.  She  shall  not  live. 

Vas.  Come,  she  must.  You  would  have  her  confess 
the  author  of  her  present  misfortunes,  I  warrant  ye  ;  'tis 
an  unconscionable  demand,  and  she  should  lose  the  esti 
mation  that  I,  for  my  part,  hold  of  her  worth,  if  she  had 
done  it :  why,  sir,  you  ought  not,  of  all  men  living,  to 
know  it.  Good  sir,  be  reconciled :  alas,  good  gentle 
woman  ! 

Ann.  Pish,  do  not  beg  for  me  ;  I  prize  my  life 
As  nothing ;  if  the  man  will  needs  be  mad, 
Why,  let  him  take  it. 

Sor.  Vasques,  hear'st  thou  this? 

Vas.  Yes,  and  commend  her  for  it ;  in  this  she  shows 
the  nobleness  of  a  gallant  spirit,  and  beshrew  my  heart, 
but  it  becomes  her  rarely. — [Aside  to  SORANZO]  Sir,  in 
any  case,  smother  your  revenge ;  leave  the  scenting-out 
your  wrongs  to  me :  be  ruled,  as  you  respect  your 
honour,  or  you  mar  all. — \Aloud\  Sir,  if  ever  my  service 
were  of  any  credit  with  you,  be  not  so  violent  in  your 


160  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.      [ACT  iv. 

distractions :  you  are  married  now ;  what  a  triumph 
might  the  report  of  this  give  to  other  neglected  suitors  ! 
'Tis  as  manlike  to  bear  extremities  as  godlike  to  forgive. 

Sor,  O,  Vasques,  Vasques,  in  this  piece  of  flesh, 
This  faithless  face  of  hers,  had  I  laid  up 
The  treasure  of  my  heart ! — Hadst  thou  been  virtuous, 
Fair,  wicked  woman,  not  the  matchless  joys 
Of  life  itself  had  made  me  wish  to  live 
With  any  saint  but  thee  :  deceitful  creature, 
How  hast  thou  mocked  my  hopes,  and  in  the  shame 
Of  thy  lewd  womb  even  buried  me  alive  ! 
I  did  too  dearly  love  thee. 

Vas.  \Aside  to  SORANZO]  This  is  well ;  follow  this 
temper  with  some  passion :  be  brief  and  moving  ;  'tis  for 
the  purpose. 

Sor.  Be  witness  to  my  words  thy  soul  and  thoughts ; 
And  tell  me,  didst  not  think  that  in  my  heart 
I  did  too  superstitiously  adore  thee? 

Ann.  I  must  confess  I  know  you  loved  me  well. 

Sor.  And  wouldst  thou  use  me  thus !     0  Annabella, 
Be  thou  assumed,  whoe'er  the  villain  was 
That  thus  hath  tempted  thee  to  this  disgrace, 
Well  he  might  lust,  but  never  loved  like  me : 
He  doted  on  the  picture  that  hung  out 
Upon  thy  cheeks  to  please  his  humorous  eye ; 
Not  on  the  part  I  loved,  which  was  thy  heart, 
And,  as  I  thought,  thy  virtues. 

Ann.  O,  my  lord  ! 

These  words  wourid  deeper  than  your  sword  could  do. 

Vas.  Let  me  not  ever  take  comfort,  but  I  begin  to 
weep  myself,  so  much  I  pity  him  :  why,  madam,  I  knew, 
when  his  rage  was  over-past,  what  it  would  come  to. 

Sor.  Forgive  me,  Annabella.     Though  thy  youth 
Hath  tempted  thee  above  thy  strength  to  folly, 
Yet  will  not  I  forget  what  I  should  be, 
And  what  I  am — a  husband ;  in  that  name 
Is  hid  divinity  :  if  I  do  find 


SCENE  in.]   '77S  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  161 

That  thou  wilt  yet  be  true,  here  I  remit 

All  former  faults,  and  take  thee  to  my  bosom. 

Fas.  By  my  troth,  and  that's  a  point  of  noble  charity. 

Ann.  Sir,  on  my  knees, — 

Sor.  Rise  up,  you  shall  not  kneel. 

Get  you  to  your  chamber  ;  see  you  make  no  show 
Of  alteration  ;  I'll  be  with  you  straight : 
My  reason  tells  me  now  that  "  'tis  as  common 
To  err  in  frailty  as  to  be  a  woman." 
Go  to  your  chamber.  [Exit  ANNABELLA. 

Vas.  So  !  this  was  somewhat  to  the  matter :  what  do 
you  think  of  your  heaven  of  happiness  now,  sir? 

Sor.  I  carry  hell  about  me  •  all  my  blood 
Is  fired  in  swift  revenge/ 

Vas.  That  mayblff  but  know  you  how,  or  on  whom  ? 
Alas,  to  marry  a  great  woman,  being  made  great  in  the 
stock  to  your  hand,  is  a  usual  sport  in  these  days ;  but  to 
know  what  ferret  it  was  that  hunted  your  cony-berry, — 
there's  the  cunning. 

Sor.  I'll  make  her  tell  herself,  or — 

Vas.  Or  what  ?  you  must  not  do  so ;  let  me  yet  per 
suade  your  sufferance  a  little  while  :  go  to  her,  use  her 
mildly ;  win  her,  if  it  be  possible,  to  a  voluntary,  to  a 
'weeping  tune  :  for  the  rest,  if  all  hit,  I  will  not  miss  my 
mark.  Pray,  sir,  go  in  :  the  next  news  I  tell  you  shall  be 
wonders. 

Sor.  Delay  in  vengeance  gives  a  heavier  blow.     \Exif. 

Vas.  Ah,  sirrah,  here's  work  for  the  nonce !  I  had  a 
suspicion  of  a  bad  matter  in  my  head  a  pretty  whiles 
ago ;  but  after  my  madam's  scurvy  looks  here  at  home, 
her  waspish  perverseness  and  loud  fault-finding,  then  I 
remembered  the  proverb,  that  "where  hens  crow,  and 
cocks  hold  their  peace,  there  are  sorry  houses."  'Sfoot, 
if  the  lower  parts  of  a  she-tailor's  cunning  can  cover  such 
a  swelling  in  the  stomach,  I'll  never  blame  a  false  stitch 
in  a  shoe  whiles  I  live  again.  Up,  and  up  so  quick? 
and  so  quickly  too  ?  'twere  a  fine  policy  to  learn  by 

Ford,  H 


1 62  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHOKE.      [ACT  iv. 

whom :  this  must  be  known ;  and  I  have  thought 
on't  :— 

Enter  PUTANA  in  tears. 

Here's  the  way,  or  none. — What,  crying,  old  mistress! 
alas,  alas,  I  cannot  blame  ye ;  we  have  a  lord,  Heaven 
help  us,  is  so  mad  as  the  devil  himself,  the  more  shame 
for  him. 

Put.  O,  Vasques,  that  ever  I  was  born  to  see  this 
day !  Doth  he  use  thee  so  too  sometimes,  Vasques  ? 

Vas.  Me  ?  why  he  makes  a  dog  of  me  :  but  if  some 
'were  of  my  mind,  I  know  what  we  would  do.  As  sure 
as  I  am  an  honest  man,  he  will  go  near  to  kill  my  lady 
with  unkindness  :  say  she  be  with  child,  is  that  such  a 
matter  for  a  young  woman  of  her  years  to  be  blamed  for? 

Put.  Alas,  good  heart,  it  is  against  her  will  full  sore. 

Vas.  I  durst  be  sworn  all  his  madness  is  for  that  she 
will  not  confess  whose  'tis,  which  he  will  know;  and 
when  he  doth  know  it,  I  am  so  well  acquainted  with  his 
humour,  that  he  will  forget  all  straight.  Well,  I  could 
wish  she  would  in  plain  terms  tell  all,  for  that's  the  way, 
indeed. 

Put.  Do  you  think  so  ? 

Vas.  Foh,  I  know't ;  provided  that  he  did  not  win 
her  to  't  by  force.  He  was  once  in  a  mind  that  you 
could  tell,  and  meant  to  have  wrung  it  out  of  you;  but  I 
somewhat  pacified  him  for  that :  yet,  sure,  you  know  a 
great  deal. 

Put.  Heaven  forgive  us  all !  I  know  a  little,  Vasques. 

Vas.  Why  should  you  not  ?  who  else  should  ?  Upon 
my  conscience,  she  loves  you  dearly;  and  you  would  not 
betray  her  to  any  affliction  for  the  world. 

Put.  Not  for  all  the  world,  by  my  faith  and  troth, 
Vasques. 

Vas.  'Twere  pity  of  your  life  if  you  should  ;  but  in 
this  you  should  both  relieve  her  present  discomforts, 
pacify  my  lord,  and  gain  yourself  everlasting  love  and 
preferment. 


SCENE  in.]   'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  163 

Put.  Dost  think  so,  Vasques  ? 

Vas.  Nay,  I  know't ;  sure  'twas  some  near  and  entire 
friend. 

Put.  'Twas  a  dear  friend  indeed ;  but — 

Vas.  But  what?  fear  not  to  name  him ;  my  life  between 
you  and  danger  :  'faith,  I  think  'twas  no  base  fellow. 

Put.  Thou  wilt  stand  between  me  and  harm  ? 

Vas.  'Ud's  pity,  what  else  ?  you  shall  be  rewarded 
too,  trust  me. 

Put.  'Twas  even  no  worse  than  her  own  brother. 

Vas.  Her  brother  Giovanni,  I  warrant  ye ! 

Put.  Even  he,  Vasques  ;  as  brave  a  gentleman  as  ever 
kissed  fair  lady.  O,  they  love  most  perpetually. 

Vas.  A  brave  gentleman  indeed  !  why,  therein  I  com 
mend  her  choice. — [Aside]  Better  and  better. — You  are 
sure  'twas  he  ? 

Put.  Sure  ;  and  you  shall  see  he  will  not  be  long  from 
her  too. 

Vas.  He  were  to  blame  if  he  would :  but  may  I  believe 
thee? 

Put.  Believe  me !  why,  dost  think  I  am  a  Turk  or  a 
Jew?  No,  Vasques,  I  have  known  their  dealings  too 
Jong  to  belie  them  now. 

Vas.  Where  are  you  there  ?  within,  sirs ! 

Enter  Banditti. 

Put.  How  now !  what  are  these  ? 

Vas.  You  shall  know  presently. — Come,  sirs,  take  me 
this  old  damnable  hag,  gag  her  instantly,  and  put  out  her 
eyes,  quickly,  quickly ! 

Put.  Vasques  !  Vasques  ! — 

Vas.  Gag  her,  I  say ;  'sfoot,  d'ye  suffer  her  to  prate  ? 
what  d'ye  fumble  about?  let  me  come  to  her.  I'll  help 
your  old  gums,  you  toad-bellied  bitch  !  \They  gag  tier.] 
Sirs,  carry  her  closely  into  the  coal-house,  and  put  out 
her  eyes  instantly  ;  if  she  roars,  slit  her  nose  :  d'ye  hear, 
be  speedy  and  sure.  \Exeunt  Banditti  with  PUTANA.] 


164  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.      [ACT  iv. 

Why,  this  is  excellent  and  above  expectation — -her  own 
brother  !  O,  horrible  !  to  what  a  height  of  liberty  in 
damnation  hath  the  devil  trained  our  age  !  her  brother, 
well !  there's  yet  but  a  beginning ;  I  must  to  my  lord, 
and  tutor  him  better  in  his  points  of  vengeance  :  now  I 
see  how  a  smooth  tale  goes  beyond  a  smooth  tail. — But 
soft!  what  thing  comes  next?  Giovanni!  as  I  would 
wish  :  my  belief  is  strengthened,  'tis  as  firm  as  winter  and 
summer. 

Enter  GIOVANNI. 

Gio.  Where's  my  sister  ? 

Vas.  Troubled  with  a  new  sickness,  my  lord ;  she's 
somewhat  ill. 

Gio.  Took  too  much  of  the  flesh,  I  believe. 

Vas.  Troth,  sir,  and  you,  I  think,  have  e'en  hit  it : 
but  my  virtuous  lady — 

Gio.  Where's  she? 

Vas.  In  her  chamber ;  please  you  visit  her ;  she  is 
alone.  [GIOVANNI  gives  him  money.]  Your  liberality 
hath  doubly  made  me  your  servant,-  and  ever  shall,  ever. 

{Exit  GIOVANNI. 
Re-enter  SORANZO. 

Sir,  I  am  made  a  man;  I  have  plied  my  cue  with  cun 
ning  and  success  :  I  beseech  you  let's  be  private. 

Sor.   My  lady's  brother's  come  ;  now  he'll  know  all. 

Vas.  Let  him  know't ;  I  have  made  some  of  them  fast 
enough.  How  have  you  dealt  with  my  lady? 

Sor.  Gently,  as  thou  hast  counselled  ;  O,  my  soul 
Runs  circular  in  sorrow  for  revenge  : 
But,  Vasques,  thou  shalt  know — 

Vas.  Nay,  I  will  know  no  more,  for  now  comes  your 
turn  to  know  :  I  would  not  talk  so  openly  with  you.— 
[Aside]  Let  my  young  master  take  time  enough,  and  go 
at  pleasure ;  he  is  sold  to  death,  and  the  devil  shall  not 
ransom  him. — Sir,  I  beseech  you,  your  privacy. 

Sor.  No  conquest  can  gain  glory  of  my  fear.  [Exeunt., 


ACT  THE   FIFTH. 
SCENE  I.— The  Street  before  SORANZO'S  House. 

ANNABELLA  appears  at  a  window  above. 

NN.     Pleasures,   farewell,    and    all    ye 

thriftless  minutes 
Wherein  false  joys  have  spun  a  weary 

life  ! 
To  these  my  fortunes  now  I  take  my 

eave- 

Thou,  precious  Time,  that  swiftly  rid'st 
Over  the  world,  to  finish-up  the  race  [in  post 

Of  my  last  fate,  here  stay  thy  restless  course, 
And  bear  to  ages  that  are  yet  unborn 
A  wretched,  woeful  woman's  tragedy  ! 
My  conscience  now  stands  up  against  my  lust 
With  depositions  charactered  in  guilt, 

Enter  Friar  below. 

And  tells  me  I  am  lost  :  now  I  confess 

Beauty  that  clothes  the  outside  of  the  face/ 

Is  curst-d  if  it  be  not  clothed  with  grace// 

Here  like  a  turtle  mewed-up  in  a  cage, 

I  11  mated,  I  converse  with  air  and  walls, 

And  descant  on  my  vile  unhappiness. 

O,  (riovanni,  thou  hast  had  the  spoil 

Of  thine  own  virtues  and  my  modest  fame, 

Would  thou  hadst  been  less  subject  to  those  stars 

That  luckless  reigned  at  my  nativity  ! 

O,  would  the  scourge  due  to  my  black  offence 


1 66  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A   WHORE.        [ACT 

Might  pass  from  thee,  that  I  alone  might  feel 
The  torment  of  an  uncontrolled  flame  ! 

friar  [Aside.]  What's  this  I  hear  ? 

Ann.  That  man,  that  blessed  friar, 

Who  joined  in  ceremonial  knot  my  hand 
To  him  whose  wife  I  now  am,  told  me  oft 
I  trod  the  path  to  death,  and  showed  me  how. 
But  they  who  sleep  in  lethargies  of  lust 
Hug  their  confusion,  making  Heaven  unjust ; 
And  so  did  I. 

Friar  [Aside.]  Here's  music  to  the  soul ! 

Ann.  Forgive  me,  my  good  genius,  and  this  once 
Be  helpful  to  my  ends  :  let  some  good  man 
Pass  this  way,  to  whose  trust  I  may  commit 
This  paper,  double-lined  with  tears  and  blood  ; 
Which  being  granted,  here  I  sadly  vow 
Repentance,  and  a  leaving- of  that  life 
I  long  have  died  in. 

friar.  Lady,  Heaven  hath  heard  you, 

And  hath  by  providence  ordained  that  I 
Should  be  his  minister  for  your  behoof. 

Ann.  Ha,  what  are  you  ? 

friar.  Your  brother's  friend,  the  friar  ; 

Glad  in  my  soul  that  I  have  lived  to  hear 
This  free  confession  'twixt  your  peace  and  you. 
What  would  you,  or  to  whom  ?  fear  not  to  speak. 

Ann.  Is  Heaven  so  bountiful  ?  then  I  have  found 
More  favour  than  I  hoped.     Here,  holy  man  : 

[Throws  down  a  letter. 

Commend  me  to  my  brother ;  give  him  that, 
That  letter ;  bid  him  read  it,  and  repent. 
Tell  him  that  I,  imprisoned  in  my  chamber, 
Barred  of  all  company,  even  of  my  guardian, — 
Who  gives  me  cause  of  much  suspect, — have  time 
To  blush  at  what  hath  passed ;  bid  him  be  wise, 
And  not  believe  the  friendship  of  my  lord  : 
I  fear  much  more  than  I  can  speak :  good  father, 


SCENE  II.]     'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  167 

The  place  is  dangerous,  and  spies  are  busy. 
I  must  break  off.     You'll  do't  ? 

Friar.  Be  sure  I  will, 

And  fly  with  speed.     My  blessing  ever  rest 
With  thee,  my  daughter  ;  live,  to  die  more  blest !    \Exit. 

Ann.  Thanks  to  the  heavens,  who  have  prolonged  my 
To  this  good  use  !  now  I  can  welcome  death.        [breath 

[  Withdraws  from  the  window. 


SCENE  II. — A  Room  in  SORANZO'S  House. 
Enter  SORANZO  and  VASQUES. 

Vas.  Am  I  to  be  believed  now  ?  first  marry  a  strumpet, 
that  cast  herself  away  upon  you  but  to  laugh  at  your 
horns,  to  feast  on  your  disgrace,  riot  in  your  vexations, 
cuckold  you  in  your  bride-bed,  waste  your  estate  upon 
panders  and  bawds ! — 

Sor.  No  more,  I  say,  no  more  ! 

Vas.  A  cuckold  is  a  goodly  tame  beast,  my  lord. 

Sor.  I  am  resolved  ;  urge  not  another  word  ; 
My  thoughts  are  great,  and  all  as  resolute 
As  thunder :  in  mean  time  I'll  cause  our  lady 
To  deck  herself  in  all  her  bridal  robes  ^ 
Kiss  her,  and  fold  her  gently  in  my  arms. 
Begone, — yet,  hear  you,  are  the  banditti  ready 
To  wait  in  ambush. 

Vas.  Good  sir,  trouble  not  yourself  about  other  busi 
ness  than  your  own  resolution  :  remember  that  time  lost 
cannot  be  recalled. 

Sor.  With  all  the  cunning  words  thou  canst,  invite 
The  states 1  of  Parma  to  my  birthday's  feast : 
Haste  to  my  brother-rival  and  his  father, 
Entreat  them  gently,  bid  them  not  to  fail. 
Be  speedy,  and  return. 

1  i.e.  Nobles. 


1 68  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT  v. 

Vas.  Let  not  your   pity   betray  you   till  my  coming 
back  ;  think  upon  incest  and  cuckoldry. 

Sor.  Revenge  is  all  the  ambition  I  aspire  ; 
To  that  I'll  climb  or  fall :  my  blood's  on  fire.     {Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.— A  Room  in  FLORIO'S  House. 
Enter  GIOVANNI. 

Gio.  Busy  opinion  is  an  idle  fool, 
That,  as  a  school-rod  keeps  a  child  in  awe, 
Frights  the  unexperienced  temper  of  the  mind  : 
So  did  it  me,  who,  ere  my  precious  sister 
Was  married,  thought  all  taste  of  love  would  die 
In  such  a  contract;  but  I  find  no  change 
Of  pleasure  in  this  formal  law  of  sports. 
She  is  still  one  to  me,  and  every  kiss 
As  sweet  and  as  delicious  as  the  first 
I  reaped,  when  yet  the  privilege  of  youth 
Entitled  her  a  virgin.     O,  the  glory 
Of  two  united  hearts  like  hers  and  mine  ! 
Let  poring  book-men  dream  of  other  worlds; 
My  world  and  all  of  happiness  is  here, 
And  I'd  not  change  it  for  the  best  to  come  : 
A  life  of  pleasure  is  elysium. 

Enter  Friar. 

Father,  you  enter  on  the  jubilee 
Of  my  retired  delights  :  now  I  can  tell  you, 
The  hell  you  oft  have  prompted  is  nought  else 
But  slavish  and  fond  superstitious  fear; 
And  I  could  prove  it  too— 

Friar.  Thy  blindness  slays  thee  : 

Look  there,  'tis  writ  to  thee.  [Gives  him  the  letter. 

Gio.  From  whom  ? 

Friar.  Unrip  the  seals  and  see  ; 
The  blood's  yet  seething  hot,  that  will  anon 


SCENE  in.]   TfS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  169 

Be  frozen  harder  than  congealed  coral. — 
\\hy  d'ye  change  colour,  son  ? 

Gio.  'Fore  Heaven,  you  make 

Some  petty  devil  factor  'twixt  my  love 
And  your  religion-masked  sorceries. 
Where  had  you  this  ? 

Friar.  Thy  conscience,  youth,  is  seared, 

Else  thou  wouldst  stoop  to  warning. 

Gio.  Tis  her  hand, 

I  know't ;  and  'tis  all  written  in  her  blood. 
She  writes  I  know  not  what.     Death  !     I'll  not  fear 
An  armed  thunderbolt  aimed  at  my  heart. 
She  writes,  we  are  discovered  : — Pox  on  dreams 
Of  low  faint-hearted  cowardice  ! — discovered  ? 
The  devil  we  are !  which  way  is't  possible  ? 
Are  we  grown  traitors  to  our  own  delights  ? 
Confusion  take  such  dotage  !  'tis  but  forged : 
This  is  your  peevish  chattering,  weak  old  man  ! 

Enter  VASQUES. 

Now,  sir,  what  brings  you  ? 

Vas.  My  lord,  according  to  his  yearly  custom,  keeping 
this  day  a  feast  in  honour  of  his  birthday,  by  me  invites 
you  thither.  Your  worthy  father,  with  the  pope's  reverend 
nuncio,  and  other  magnificoes  of  Parma,  have  promised 
their  presence :  will't  please  you  to  be  of  the  number  ? 

Gio.  Yes,  tell  him  I  dare  come. 

Vas.  "  Dare  come !  " 

Gio.  So  I  said  ;  and  tell  him  more,  I  will  come. 

Vas.  These  words  are  strange  to  me. 

Gio.  Say,  I  will  come. 

Vas.  You  will  not  miss  ? 

Gio.  Yet  more!     I'll  come,  sir.     Are  you  answered? 

Vas.  So  I'll  say. — My  service  to  you.  {Exit. 

Friar.  You  will  not  go,  I  trust. 

Gio.  Not  go  !  for  what  ? 

Friar.  O,  do  not  go  :  this  feast,  I'll  gage  my  life, 


1 70  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT  v. 

Is  but  a  plot  to  train  you  to  your  ruin. 
Be  ruled,  you  shall  not  go. 

Gio.  Not  go !  stood  Death 

Threatening  his  armies  of  confounding  plagues, 
With  hosts  of  dangers  hot  as  blazing  stars, 
I  would  be  there  :  not  go  !  yes,  and  resolve 
To  strike  as  deep  in  slaughter  as  they  all ; 
For  I  will  go. 

Friar.  Go  where  thou  wilt :  I  see 

The  wildness  of  thy  fate  draws  to  an  end, 
To  a  bad  fearful  end.     I  must  not  stay 
To  know  tfiy  falj/  back  to  Bononia  I 
With  speeoTwill  haste,  and  shun  this  coming  blow. — 
Parma,  farewell ;  would  I  had  never  known  thee, 
Or  aught  of  thine  ! — Well,  young  man,  since  no  prayer 
Can  make  thee  safe,  I  leave  thee  to  despair.  [Exit. 

Gio.  Despair,  or  tortures  of  a  thousand  hells ; 
All's  one  to  me  :  I  have  set  up  my  rest.1 
Now,  now,  work  serious  thoughts  on  baneful  plots ; 
Be  all  a  man,  my  soul ;  let  not  the  curse 
Of  old  prescription  rend  from  me  the  gall 
Of  courage,  which  enrols  a  glorious  death  : 
If  I  must  totter  like  a  well-grown  oak, 
Some  under-shrubs  shall  in  my  weighty  fall 
Be  crushed  to  splits ;  with  me  they  all  shall  perish  ! 

[Exit. 


SCENE  IV.    A  Hall  in  SORANZO'S  House. 
Enter  SORANZO,  VASQUES  with  masks,  and  Banditti. 

Sor.  You  will  not  fail,  or  shrink  in  the  attempt  ? 

Vas.  I  will  undertake  for  their  parts. — Be  sure,  my 
masters,  to  be  bloody  enough,  and  as  unmerciful  as  if  you 
were  preying  upon  a  rich  booty  on  the  very  mountains 

1  i.e.  I  have  taken  my  resolution. 


SCENE  iv.]    'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  1^1 

of  Liguria  :  for  your  pardons  trust  to  my  lord  ;  but  for 
reward  you  shall  trust  none  but  your  own  pockets. 

Band.  We'll  make  a  murder. 

Sor.  Here's  gold   [Gives  them  money~\\   here's  more; 

want  nothing  ;  what  you  do 
Is  noble,  and  an  act  of  brave  revenge  : 
I'll  make  ye  rich,  banditti,  and  all  free. 

Band.  Liberty  !  liberty  ! 

Fas.  Hold,  take  every  man  a  vizard  [Gives  them 
masks\  :  when  ye  are  withdrawn,  keep  as  much  silence 
as  you  can  possibly.  You  know  the  watchword ;  till 
which  be  spoken,  move  not;  but  when  you  hear  that, 
rush  in  like  a  stormy  flood ;  I  need  not  instruct  ye  in 
your  own  profession. 

Band.  No,  no,  no. 

Vas.  In,  then :  your  ends  are  profit  and  preferment : 
away  !  {Exeunt  Banditti. 

Sor.  The  guests  will  all  come,  Vasques  ? 

Vas.  Yes,  sir.  And  now  let  me  a  little  edge  your 
resolution  :  you  see  nothing  is  unready  to  this  great  work, 
but  a  great  mind  in  you ;  call  to  your  remembrance 
your  disgraces,  your  loss  of  honour,  Hippolita's  blood, 
and  arm  your  courage  in  your  own  wrongs ;  so  shall  you 
best  right  those  wrongs  in  vengeance,  which  you  may 
truly  call  your  own. 

Sor.  'Tis  well :  the  less  I  speak,  the  more  I  burn. 
And  blood  shall  quench  that  flame. 

Vas.  Now  you  begin  to  turn  Italian.  This  beside : — 
when  my  young  incest-monger  comes,  he  will  be  sharp  set 
on  his  old  bit :  give  him  time  enough,  let  him  have  your 
chamber  and  bed  at  liberty ;  let  my  hot  hare  have  law 
ere  he  be  hunted  to  his  death,  that,  if  it  be  possible,  he 
post  to  hell  in  the  very  act  of  his  damnation. 

Sor.  It  shall  be  so ;  and  see,  as  we  would  wish, 
He  comes  himself  first. 

Enter  GIOVANNI. 
Welcome,  my  much-loved  brother : 


1 72  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT  v. 

Now  I  perceive  you  honour  me ;  you're  welcome. 
But  where's  my  father  ? 

Gio.  With  the  other  states,1 

Attending  on  the  nuncio  of  the  pope, 
To  wait  upon  him  hither.     How's  my  sister? 

Sor.  Like  a  good  housewife,  scarcely  ready  yet ; 
You're  best  walk  to  her  chamber. 

Gio.  If  you  will. 

Sor.  I  must  expect  my  honourable  friends; 
Good  brother,  get  her  forth. 

Gio.  You're'  busy,  sir.        \_Exit. 

Vas.  Even  as  the  great  devil  himself  would  have  it ! 
let  him  go  and  glut  himself  in  his  own  destruction. — 
{Flourish^  Hark,  the  nuncio  is  at  hand :  good  sir,  be 
ready  to  receive  him. 

Enter  Cardinal,  FLORIO,  DONADO,  RICHARDETTO,  and 
Attendants. 

Sor.  Most  reverend  lord,  this  grace  hath  made  me 

proud, 

That  you  vouchsafe  my  house  ;  I  ever  rest 
Your  humble  servant  for  this  noble  favour. 

Car.  You  are  our  friend,  my  lord  :  his  holiness 
Shall  understand  how  zealously  you  honour 
Saint  Peter's  vicar  in  his  substitute  : 
Our  special  love  to  you. 

Sor.  Signiors,  to  you 

My  welcome,  and  my  ever  best  of  thanks 
For  this  so  memorable  courtesy. — 
Pleaseth  your  grace  walk  near  ? 

Car.  My  lord,  we  come 

To  celebrate  your  feast  with  civil  mirth, 
As  ancient  custom  teacheth  :  we  will  go. 

Sor.  Attend  his  grace  there  ! — Signiors,  keep  your  way. 

[Exeunt. 
1  Nobles. 


SCENE  v.]    'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  173 

SCENE  V. — ANNABELLA'S  Bed-chamber  in  the  same. 

ANNABELLA  richly  dressed  and  GIOVANNI  discovered 
lying  on  a  bed. 

Gio.  What,  changed  so  soon  !  hath  your  new  sprightly 

lord 

Found  out  a  trick  in  night-games  more  than  we 
Could  know  in  our  simplicity?     Ha  !  is't  so  ? 
Or  does  the  fit  come  on  you,  to  prove  treacherous 
To  your  past  vows  and  oaths  ? 

Ann.  Why  should  you  jest 

At  my  calamity,  without  all  sense 
Of  the  approaching  dangers  you  are  in  ? 

Gio.  What  danger's  half  so  great  as  thy  revolt? 
Thou  art  a  faithless  sister,  else  thou  know'st, 
Malice,  or  any  treachery  beside, 

Would  stoop  to  my  bent  brows  :  why,  I  hold  fate  "— -^ 
Clasped  in  my  fist,  and  could  command  the  course 
Of  time's  eternal  motion,  hadst  thou  been 
One  thought  more  steady  than  an  ebbing  sea. 
And  what  ?  you'll  now  be  honest,  that's  resolved  ? 

Ann.  Brother,  dear  brother,  know  what  I  have  been, 
And  know  that  now  there's  but  a  dining-time    -/ 
'Twixt  us  and  our  confusion  :  let's  not  waste 
These  precious  hours  in  vain  and  useless  speech. 
Alas,  these  gay  attires  were  not  put  on 
But  to  some  end  ;  this  sudden  solemn  feast 
Was  not  ordained  to  riot  in  expense ; 
I,  that  have  now  been  chambered  here  alone, 
Barred  of  my  guardian  or  of  any  else, 
Am  not  for  nothing  at  an  instant  freed 
To  fresh  access.     Be  not  deceived,  my  brother ; 
This  banquet  is  an  harbinger  of  death 
To  you  and  me ;  resolve  yourself  it  is, 
be  prepared  to  welcome  it. 

Gio.  Well,  then  ; 


174  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT  v. 

The  schoolmen  teach  that  all  this  globe  of  earth 
Shall  be  consumed  to  ashes  in  a  minute. 

Ann.  So  I  have  read  too. 

Gio.  But  'twere  somewhat  strange 

To  see  the  waters  burn  :  could  I  believe 
This  might  be  true,  I  could  believe  as  well 
There  might  be  hell  or  Heaven. 

Ann.  That's  most  certain. 

Gio.  A  dream,  a  dream  !  else  in  this  other  world 
We  should  know  one  another. 

Ann.  So  we  shall. 

Gio.  Have  you  heard  so  ? 

Ann.  For  certain. 

Gio.  But  d'ye  think 

That  I  shall  see  you  there  ? — You  look  on  me. — 
May  we  kiss  one  another,  prate  or  laugh, 
Or  do  as  we  do  here  ? 

Ann.  I  know  not  that. 

But,  brother,  for  the  present,  what  d'ye  mean 
To  free  yourself  from  danger  ?  some  way  think 
How  to  escape :  I'm  sure  the  guests  are  come. 

Gio.  Look  up,  look  here ;  what  see  you  in  my  face  ? 

Ann.  Distraction  and  a  troubled  conscience. 

Gio.  Death,  and  a  swift  repining  wrath  : — yet  look ; 
What  see  you  in  mine  eyes? 

Ann.  Methinks  you  weep. 

Gio.  I  do  indeed:  these  are  the  funeral  tears 
Shed  on  your  grave  ;  these  furrowed-up  my  cheeks 
When  first  I  loved  and  knew  not  how  to  woo. 
Fair  Annabella,  should  I  here  repeat 
The  story  of  my  life,  we  might  lose  time. 
Be  record  all  the  spirits  of  the  air, 
And  all  things  else  that  are,  that  day  and  night,  • 
Early  and  late,  the  tribute  which  my  heart 
Hath  paid  to  Annabella's  sacred  love 
Hath  been  these  tears,  which  are  her  mourners  now  !  ^.^ 
Never  till  now  did  Nature  do  her  best 


SCENE  v.]     'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  175 

To  show  a  matchless  beauty  to  the  world, 
Which  in  an  instant,  ere  it  scarce  was  seen, 
The  jealous  Destinies  required  again. 
Pray,  Annabella,  pray  !     Since  we  must  part, 
Go  thou,  white  in  thy  soul,  to  fill  a  throne 
Of  innocence  and  sanctity  in  Heaven. 
Pray,  pray,  my  sister  ! 

Ann.  Then  I  see  your  drift. — 

Ye  blessed  angels,  guard  me  ! 

Gio.  So  say  I. 

Kiss  me.     If  ever  after-times  should  hear 
Of  our  fast-knit  affections,  though  perhaps 
The  laws  of  conscience  and  of  civil  use 
May  justly  blame  us,  yet  when  they  but  know 
Our  loves,  that  love  will  wipe  away  that  rigour 
Which  would  in  other  incests  be  abhorred. 
Give  me  your  hand  :  how  sweetly  life  doth  run 
In  these  well-coloured  veins  !  how  constantly 
These  palms  do  promise  health  !  but  I  could  chide 
With  Nature  for  this  cunning  flattery. 
Kiss  me  again  : — forgive  me. 

Ann.  With  my  heart. 

Gio.  Farewell ! 

Ann.  Will  you  be  gone  ? 

Gio.  Be  dark,  bright  sun, 

And  make  this  mid-day  night,  that  thy  gilt  rays 
May  not  behold  a  deed  will  turn  their  splendour 
More  sooty  than  the  poets  feign  their  Styx  ! — 
One  other  kiss,  my  sister. 

Ann.  What  means  this  ? 

Gio.  To  save  thy  fame,  and  kill  thee  in  a  kiss. 

\Stabs  her. 

Thus  die,  and  die  by  me,  and  by  my  hand  ! 
Revenge  is  mine  ;  honour  doth  love  command. 

Ann.  O,  brother,  by  your  hand  ! 

Gio.  %  When  thou  art  dead 

I'll  give  my  reasons  for't ;  for  to  dispute 


176  TSS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT  v. 

With  thy — even  in  thy  death — most  lovely  beauty, 
Would  make  me  stagger  to  perform  this  act, 
Which  I  most  glory  in. 

Ann.  Forgive  him,  Heaven— and  me  my  sins  !  Fare- 
Brother  unkind,  unkind — Mercy,  great  Heaven  !  [well, 
O,  O  !  [Dies. 

Gio.  She's  dead,  alas,  good  soul !     The  hapless  fruit 
That  in  her  womb  received  its  life  from  me 
Hath  had  from  me  a  cradle  and  a  grave. 
I  must  not  dally.     This  sad  marriage-bed, 
In  all  her  best,  bore  her  alive  and  dead. 
Soranzo,  thou  hast  missed  thy  aim  in  this  : 
I  have  prevented  now  thy  reaching  plots, 
And  killed  a  love,  for  whose  each  drop  of  blood 
I  would  have  pawned  my  heart. — Fair  Annabella, 
How  over-glorious  art  thou  in  thy  wounds, 
Triumphing  over  infamy  and  hate  ! — 
Shrink  not,  courageous  hand,  stand  up,  my  heart, 
And  boldly  act  my  last  and  greater  part ! 

[The  scene  closes. 


SCENE  VI. — A  Banqueting-room1  in  the  same. 

A  banquet  set  out.    Enter  the  Cardinal,  FLORIO,  DONADO, 
SORANZO,  RICHARDETTO,  VASQUES,  and  Attendants. 
Vas.    [Aside  to  SORANZO]    Remember,  sir,  what  you 

have  to  do  ;  be  wise  and  resolute. 

Sor.  [Aside  to  VASQUES]  Enough  :  my  heart  is  fixed.— 
Pleaseth  your  grace 

To  taste  these  coarse  confections :  though  the  use 

Of  such  set  entertainments  more  consists 

In  custom  than  in  cause,  yet,  reverend  sir, 

1  They  had  dined  in  another  room,  and,  according  to  the  usual 
practice,  repaired  to  the  apartment  in  which  the  Confectionery  was 
set  out.—  Gifford. 


SCENE  vi.]    TfS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  177 

I  am  still  made  your  servant  by  your  presence. 
Car.  And  we  your  friend. 
Sor.  But  where's  my  brother  Giovanni  ? 

Enter  GIOVANNI  with  a  heart  upon  his  dagger. 

Gio.  Here,  here,  Soranzo  !  trimmed  in  reeking  blood, 
That  triumphs  over  death,  proud  in  the  spoil 
Of  love  and  vengeance  !     Fate,  or  all  the  powers 
That  guide  the  motions  of  immqrtal  souls, 
Could  not  prevent  me. 

Car.  What  means  this  ? 

Flo.  Son  Giovanni  ! 

Sor.  [Aside]  Shall  I  be  forestalled  ? 

Gio.  Be  not  amazed  :  if  your  misgiving  hearts 
Shrink  at  an  idle  sight,  what  bloodless  fear 
Of  coward  passion  would  have  seized  your  senses, 
Had  you  beheld  the  rape  of  life  and  beauty 
Which  I  have  acted  ! — My  sister,  O,  my  sister ! 

Flo.  Ha  !  what  of  her  ? 

Gio.  The  glory  of  my  deed 

Darkened  the  mid-day  sun,  made  noon  as  night. 
You  came  to  feast,  my  lords,  with  dainty  fare : 
I  came  to  feast  too ;  but  I  digged  for  food 
In  a  much  richer  mine  than  gold  or  stone 
Of  any  value  balanced  ;  'tis  a  heart, 
A  heart,  my  lords,  in  which  is  mine  entombed : 
Look  well  upon't ;  d'ye  know't  ? 

Vas.   [Aside]  What  strange  riddle's  this? 

Gio.  'Tis  Annabella's  heart,  'tis :— why  d'ye  startle  ? — 
I  vow  'tis  hers :  this  dagger's  point  ploughed  up 
Her  fruitful  womb,  and  left  to  me  the  fame 
Of  a  most  glorious  executioner. 

Flo.  Why,  madman,  art  thyself? 

Gio.  Yes,  father;  and,  that  times  to  come  may  know 
How,  as  my  fate,  I  honoured  my  revenge, 
List,  father ;  to  your  ears  I  will  yield  up 
How  much  I  have  deserved  Jo  be  your  son. 

Ford.  N 


178  'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT  v. 

Flo.  What  is't  thou  say'st  ? 

Gio.  Nine  moons  have  had  their  changes 

Since  I  first  throughly  viewed  and  truly  loved 
Your  daughter  and  my  sister, 

Flo.  How  ! — Alas,  my  lords, 

He  is  a  frantic  madman  ! 

Gio.  Father,  no. 

For  nine  months'  space  in  secret  I  enjoyed 
Sweet  Annabella's  sheets ;  nine  months  I  lived 
A  happy  monarch  of  her  heart  and  her. — 
Soranzo,  thou  know'st  this  :  thy  paler  cheek 
Bears  the  confounding  print  of  thy  disgrace  ; 
For  her  too-fruitful  womb  too  soon  bewrayed 
The  happy  passage  of  our  stol'n  delights, 
And  made  her  mother  to  a  child  unborn. 
Car.  Incestuous  villain  ! 

Flo.  O,  his  rage  belies  him. 

Gio.  It  does  not,  'tis  the  oracle  of  truth  ;    • 
I  vow  it  is  so. 

Sor.  I  shall  burst  with  fury, — 

Bring  the  strumpet  forth  ! 

Vas.  I  shall,  sir.  \Exit. 

Gio.  Do,  sir. — Have  you  all  no  faith 

To  credit  yet  my  triumphs  ?     Here  I  swear 
By  all  that  you  call  sacred,  by  the  love 
I  bore  my  Annabella  whilst  she  lived, 
These  hands  have  from  her  bosom  ripped  this  heart. 

Re-enter  VASQUES. 

Is't  true,  or  no,  sir? 

Vas.  'Tis  most  strangely  true. 

Flo.  Cursed  man  ! — Have  I  lived  to —  \Dies. 

Car.  Hold  up,  Florio. — 

Monster  of  children !  see  what  thou  hast  done, 
Broke  thy  old  father's  heart. — Is  none  of  you 
Dares  venture  on  him  ? 

Gio.  \     Let  'em ! — O,  my  father, 


SCENE  vr.j    'TIS  PITY  SUE'S  A    WHORE.  179 

How  well  his  death  becomes  him  in  his  griefs  ! 
Why,  this  was  done  with  courage  :  now  survives 
None  of  our  house  but  I,  gilt  in  the  blood 
Of  a  fair  sister  and  a  hapless  father. 

Sor.  Inhuman  scorn  of  men,  hast  thou  a  thought 
T'  outlive  thy  murders  ?  {Draws. 

Gio.  Yes,  I  tell  thee,  yes ; 

For  in  my  fists  I  bear  the  twists  of  life. 
Soranzo,  see  this  heart,  which  was  thy  wife's ; 
Thus  I  exchange  it  royally  for  thine.  {They  fight. 

And  thus,  and  thus  !  [SORANZO  falls. 

Now  brave  revenge  is  mine. 

Vas.  I  cannot  hold  any  longer. — You,  sir,  are  you 
grown  insolent  in  your  butcheries  ?  have  at  you  ! 

Gio.  Come,  I  am  armed  to  meet  thee.          {They  fight. 

Vas.  No  !  will  it  not  be  yet  ?  if  this  will  not,  another 
shall.  Not  yet  ?  I  shall^fit  you  anon. — Vengeance  ! 

The  Banditti  rush  in. 

Gio.  Welcome  !  come  more  of  you ;  whate'er  you  be, 
I  dare  your  worst.  {They  surround  and  wound  him. 

O,  I  can  stand  no  longer !  feeble  arms, 
Have  you  so  soon  lost  strength  ?  [Falls. 

Vas.  Now  you  are  welcome,  sir  ! — [Aside  to  Banditti.] 
Away,  my  masters,  all  is  done ;  shift  for  yourselves,  your 
reward  is  your  own  ;  shift  for  yourselves. 

Band.  Away,  away  !  {Exeunt. 

Vas.  How  d'ye,  my  lord  ? — See  you  this  ?  {Pointing  to 
GIOVANNI.]  How  is't  ? 

Sor.  Dead ;  but  in  death  well  pleased  that  I  have  lived 
To  see  my  wrongs  revenged  on  that  black  devil. 
O,  Vasques,  to  thy  bosom  let  me  give 
My  last  of  breath  ;  let  not  that  lecher  live. 
0 1  {Dies. 

Vas.  The  reward  of  peace  and  rest  be  with  him,  my 
ever  dearest  lord  and  master  1 

1  The  watchword  previously  agreed  on. 


i8o  .'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.        [ACT  V. 

Gio.  Whose  hand  gave  me  this  wound  ? 
Vas.  Mine,    sir ;   I   was   your   first   man :    have    you 
Gio.  I  thank  thee  ;  thou  hast  done  for  me     [enough  ? 
But  what  I  would  have  else  done  on  myself. 
Art  sure  thy  lord  is  dead  ? 

Vas.  O,  impudent  slave  ! 

As  cure  as  I  am  sure  to  see  thee  die. 

Car.  Think  on  thy  life  and  end,  and  call  for  mercy.   ' 
Gio.  Mercy  !  why,  I  have  found  it  in  this  justice. 
Car.  Strive  yet  to  cry  to  Heaven. 
Gio.  O,  I  bleed  fast! 

Death,  thou'rt  a  guest  long  looked  for ;  I  embrace 
Thee  and  thy  wounds  :  O,  my  last  minute  comes  t 
Where'er  I  go,  let  me  enjoy  this  grace, 
Freely  to  view  my  Annabella's  face.  [2}ies. 

Don.  Strange  miracle  of  justice  ! 
Car.  Raise  up  the  city ;  we  shall  be  murdered  all ! 
Vas.  You  need  not  fear,  you  shall  not :  this  strange 
task  being  ended,  I  have  paid  the  duty  to  the  son  which 
I  have  vowed  to  the  father. 

Car.  Speak,  wretched  villain,  what  incarnate  fiend 
Hath  led  thee  on  to  this  ? 

Vas.  Honesty,  and  pity  of  my  master's  wrongs :  for 
know,  my  lord,  I  am  by  birth  a  Spaniard,  brought  forth 
my  country  in  my  youth  by  Lord  Soranzo's  father,  whom 
whilst  he  lived  I  served  faithfully:  since  whose  death  I 
have  been  to  this  man  as  I  was  to  him.  What  I  have 
done  was  duty,  and  I  repent  nothing,  but  that  the  loss  of 
my  life  had  not  ransomed  his. 

Car.  Say,  fellow,  know'st  thou  any  yet  unnamed 
Of  counsel  in  this  incest  ? 

Vas.  Yes,  an  old  woman,  sometimes 1  guardian  to  this 
murdered  lady. 

Car.  And  what's  become  of  her  ? 
Vas.  Within  this  room  she  is !  whose  eyes,  after  her 
confession,   I   caused  to  be  put  out,  but  kept  alive,  to 
1  i.e.  Formerly. 


SCENE  vi.]    'TIS  PITY  SHE'S  A    WHORE.  181 

confirm  what  from  Giovanni's  own  mouth  you  have  heard. 
Now,  my  lord,  what  I  have  done  you  may  judge  of;  and 
let  your  own  wisdom  be  a  judge  in  your  own  reason. 

Car.  Peace  ! — First  this  woman,  chief  in  these  effects, 
My  sentence  is,  that  forthwith  she  be  ta'en 
Out  of  the  city,  for  example's  sake, 
There  to  be  burnt  to  ashes. 

Don.  Tis  most  just. 

Car.  Be  it  your  charge,  Donado,  see  it  done. 

Don.  I  shall. 

Vas.  What  for  me  ?  if  death,  'tis  welcome :    I  have 
been  honest  to  the  son,  as  I  was  to  the  father. 

Car.  Fellow,  for  thee,  since  what  thou  didst  was  done 
Not  for  thyself,  being  no  Italian, 
We  banish  thee  for  ever  ;  to  depart 
Within  three  days :  in  this  we  do  dispense 
With  grounds  of  reason,  not  of  thine  offence. 

Vas.  'Tis  well :  this  conquest  is  mine,  and  I  rejoice 
that  a  Spaniard  outwent  an  Italian  in  revenge.        \Exit. 

Car.  Take   up   these   slaughtered   bodies,    see    them 
And  all  the  gold  and  jewels,  or  whatsoever,          [buried ; 
Confiscate  by  the  canons  of  the  church, 
We  seize  upon  to  the  pope's  proper  use. 

Rich.   {Discovers  himself ^\  Your  grace's  pardon:  thus 

long  I  lived  disguised, 
To  see  the  effect  of  pride  and  lust  at  once 
Brought  both  to  shameful  ends. 

Car.  W7hat !  Richardetto,  whom  we  thought  for  dead? 

Don.  Sir,  was  it  you — 

Rich.  Your  friend. 

Car.  We  shall  have  time 

To  talk  at  large  of  all :  but  never  yet 

Incest  and  murder  have  so  strangely  met. 

Of  one  so  young,  so  rich  in  nature's  store, 

Who  could  not  say,  'Tis  PITV  SHE'S  A  WHORE? 

\Exenn1. 


THE 


HEAT^T. 


;  O  account  remains  of  the  first  appear 
ance  of  this  play,  or  of  its  success. 
It  was  acted  by  the  King's  servants 
at  the  Blackfriars  Theatre,  and  was 
published  in  1633.  It  is  said  in  the 
Prologue  that  the  story — the  scene  of 
which  is  curiously  placed  in  Sparta — 
had  some  foundation  in  fact.  It  may 
have  been  taken  from  an  Italian  novel. 


To  the  most  worthy  desetver  of  the  noblest  titles  in  honour, 

WILLIAM,  LORD  CRAVEN,- BARON  OF  HAMP- 

STEAD-MARSHALL.i 

My  Lord, 

HE  glory  of  a  great  name,  acquired  by  a 
greater  glory  of  action,  hath  in  all  ages 
lived  the  truest  chronicle  to  his  own 
memory.  In  the  practice  of  which 
argument  your  growth  to  perfection, 
9  even  in  youth,  hath .  appeared  so  sin 
cere,  so  unflattering  a  penman,  that  posterity  cannot 
with  more  delight  read  the  merit  of  noble  endeavours 
than  noble  endeavours  merit  [thanks  from  posterity  to  be 
read  with  delight.  Many  nations,  many  eyes  have  been 
witnesses  of  your  deserts,  and  loved  them :  be  pleased, 

1  "  William,  first  Baron  and  Earl  Craven  "  (according  to  Collins's 
Peerage],  "the  eldest  son  of  Sir  W.  Craven,  Lord  Mayor,  was 
much  affected  with  military  exercises  from  his  youth,  and  signalised 
himself  in  Germany  and  in  the  Netherlands  under  Henry,  Prince  of 
Orange.  In  which  valiant  adventures  he  gained  such  honour,  that 
on  his  return  he  was  first  knighted  at  Xewmarket,  March  4,  1626, 
and  in  the  year  after  deservedly  raised  to  the  dignity  of  Lord  Craven 
of  Hampstead-Marshall.  In  1631  he  was  one  of  the  commanders 
of  those  forces  sent  to  the  assistance  of  the  great  Gustavus  Adolphus, 
and  was  wounded  in  the  assault  upon  the  strong  fortress  of  Kreutz- 
nach.  He  died,  after  a  very  active  and  chequered  life,  April  9, 
1697,  at  the  advanced  age  of  88.  He  is  now  chiefly  remembered 
for  his  romantic  attachment  to  the  Queen  of  Bohemia,  daughter  of 
James  I.,  to  whom  it  is  generally  supposed  he  was  privately  mar 
ried."  "  One  may  be  pardoned  for  remembering,"  Ward  adds,  "  that 
the  chivalrous  knight-errant  and  (as  is  thought)  secret  husband  of 

li/abeth  of  Bohemia  survived  her  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century.'' 


1 86 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


then,  with  the  freedom  of  your  own  name,  to  admit  one 
amongst  all,  particularly  into  the  list  of  such  as  honour 
a  fair  example  of  nobility.  There  is  a  kind  of  humble 
ambition,  not  uncommendable,  when  the  silence  of  study 
breaks  forth  into  discourse,  coveting  rather  encouragement 
than  applause  ;  yet  herein  censure  commonly  is  too  severe 
an  auditor,  without  the  moderation  of  an  able  patronage. 
I  have  ever  been  slow  in  courtship  of  greatness,  not  igno 
rant  of  such  defects  as  are  frequent  to  opinion  :  but  the 
justice  of  your  inclination  to  industry  emboldens  my  weak 
ness  of  confidence  to  relish  an  experience  of  your  mercy, 
as  many  brave  dangers  have  tasted  of  your  courage.  Your 
Lordship  strove  to  be  known  to  the  world,  when  the  world 
knew  you  least,  by  voluntary  but  excellent  attempts  :  like 
allowance  I  plead  of  being  known  to  your  Lordship  (in  this 
low  presumption),  by  tendering,  to  a  favourable  entertain 
ment,  a  devotion  offered  from  a  heart  that  can  be  as  truly 
sensible  of  any  least  respect  as  ever  profess  the  owner  in 
my  best,  my  readiest  services,  a  lover  of  your  natural  love 
to  virtue. 

JOHN  FORD. 


OUR  scene  is  Sparta.     He  whose  best  of  art 

Hath  drawn  this  piece  calls  it  THE  BROKEN  HEART. 

The  title  lends  no  expectation  here 

Of  apish  laughter,  or  of  some  lame  jeer 

At  place  or  persons  ;  no  pretended  clause 

Of  jests  fit  for  a  brothel  courts  applause 

From  vulgar  admiration  :  such  low  songs, 

Tuned  to  unchaste  ears,  suit  not  modest  tongues. 

The  virgin-sisters  then  deserved  fresh  bays 

When  innocence  and  sweetness  crowned  their  lays  ; 

Then  vices  gasped  for  breath,  whose  whole  commerce 

Was  whipped  to  exile  by  unblushing  verse. 

This  law  we  keep  in  our  presentment  now, 

Not  to  take  freedom  more  than  we  allow  ; 

What  may  be  here  thought  Fiction,  when  time's  youth 

Wanted  some  riper  years,  was  known  a  Truth  : 

In  which,  if  words  have  clothed  the  subject  right, 

You  may  partake  a  pity  with  delight. 


DRAMA  TIS 


AMYCLAS,  King  of  Laconia. 
*  ITHOCLES,  a  Favourite. 
rORGlLUS,  Son  of  Crotolon. 
»BASSANES,  a  jealous  Nobleman. 
ARMOSTES,  a  Counsellor  of  State 
CROTOLON,  another  Counsellor. 
PROPHILUS,  Friend  of  Ithocles. 
NEARCHUS,  Prince  of  Argos. 
TECNICUS,  a  Philosopher. 
HEMOPHIL,  ) 
GRONEAS, 
AMELUS,  Friend  of  Nearchus. 
PHULAS,  Servant  to  Bassanes. 
Lords,  Courtiers,  Officers,  Attendants,  &c. 

^CALANTHA,  Daughter  of  Amyclas. 
tPENTHEA,  Sister  of  Ithocles  and  Wife  of  Bassanes. 

EUPHRANEA,  Daughter  of  Crotolon,  a  Maid  of  honour. 

CHRISTALLA,  ) 

PHILEMA, 


Courtiers. 


!  Maids  of  honour. 
»GRAUSIS,  Overseer  of  Penthea. 


SCENE— SPARTA. 


THE 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

SCENE  I. — A  Room  ui  CROTOLON'S  House. 

\ 

Enter  CROTOLON  and  ORGILUS. 

ROT.  Dally  not   further;   I  will  know 

the  reason 
That  speeds  thee  to  this  journey. 

Org.  Reason  !  good  sir, 

I  can  yield  many. 

Crot.  Give  me  one,  a  good  one  ; 

Such  I  expect,  and  ere  we  part  must 
Athens  !  pray,  why  to  Athens  ?  you  intend  not       [have  : 
To  kick  against  the  world,  turn  cynic,  stoic, 
Or  read  the  logic-lecture,  or  become 
An  Areopagite,  and  judge  in  cases 
Touching  the  commonwealth  ;  for,  as  I  take  it, 
The  budding  of  your  chin  cannot  prognosticate 
So  grave  an  honour. 

Org.  All  this  I  acknowledge. 

Crot.  You  do !  then,  son,  if  books  and  love  of  know 
ledge 

Inflame  you  to  this  travel,  here  in  Sparta 
You  may  as  freely  study. 

Org.  'Tis  not  that,  sir. 

Crot.  Not  that,  sir !     As  a  father,  I  command  thee 
T'  acquaint  me  with  the  truth. 


i go  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  i. 

Org.  Thus  I  obey  ye. 

After  so  many  quarrels  as  dissension, 
Fury,  and  rage  had  broached  in  blood,  and  sometimes - 
With  death  to  such  confederates  as  sided 
With  now-dead  Thrasus  and  yourself,  my  lord ; 
Our  present  king,  Amyclas,  reconciled 
Your  eager  swords  and  sealed  a  gentle  peace : 
Friends  you  professed  yourselves  ;  which  to  confirm, 
A  resolution  for  a  lasting  league 
Betwixt  your  families  was  entertained, 
By  joining  in  a  Hymenean  bond 
Me  and  the  fair  Penthea,  only  daughter 
*To  Thrasus. 

Crot.  What  of  this  ? 

Org.  Much,  much,  dear  sir. 

A  freedom  of  converse,  an  interchange 
Of  holy  and  chaste  love,  so  fixed  our  souls 
In  a  firm  growth  of  union,  that  no  time 
Can  eat  into  the  pledge :  we  had  enjoyed 
The  sweets  our  vows  expected,  had  not  cruelty 
Prevented  all  those  triumphs  we  prepared  for, 
By  Thrasus  his  untimely  death. 

Crot.  Most  certain. 

Org.  From  this  time  sprouted-up  that  poisonous  stalk 
Of  aconite,  whose  ripened  fruit  hath  ravished 
All  health,  all  comfort  of  a  happy  life  ; 
For  Ithocles,  her  brother,  proud  of  youth, 
And  prouder  in  his  power,  nourished  closely 
The  memory  of  former  discontents, 
To  glory  in  revenge.     By  cunning  partly, 
Partly  by  threats,  he  woos  at  once,  and  forces 
His  virtuous  sister  to  admit  a  marriage 
With  Bassanes,  a  nobleman,  in  honour 
And  riches,  I  confess,  beyond  my  fortunes. 

Crot.  All  this  is  no  sound  reason  to  importune 
My  leave  for  thy  departure. 

Org.  Now  it  follows. 


SCENE  I.]          THE  BROKEN  HEART.  191 

Beauteous  Penthea,  wedded  to  this  torture 
By  an  insulting  brother,  being  secretly 
Compelled  to  yield  her  virgin  freedom  up 
To  him,  who  never  can  usurp  her  heart, 
Before  contracted  mine,  is  now  so  yoked 
To  a  most  barbarous  thraldrom,  misery, 
Affliction,  that  he  savours  not  humanity, 
Whose  sorrow  melts  not  into  more  than  pity 
In  hearing  but  her  name. 

Crot.  As  how,  pray? 

Org.  Bassanes, 

The  man  that  calls  her  wife,  considers  truly 
What  heaven  of  perfections  he  is  lord  of 
By  thinking  fair  Penthea  his  :  this  thought 
Begets  a  kind  of  monster-love,  which  love 
Is  nurse  unto  a  fear  so  strong  and  servile 
As  brands  all  dotage  with  a  jealousy  : 
All  eyes  who  gaze  upon  that  shrine  of  beauty 
He  doth  resolve l  do  homage  to  the  miracle  ; 
Some  one,  he  is  assured,  may  now  or  then, 
If  opportunity  but  sort,  prevail  : 
So  much,  out  of  a  self-unworthiness, 
His  fears  transport  him  ;  not  that  he  finds  cause 
In  her  obedience,  but  his  own  distrust. 

Crot.  You  spin-out  your  discourse. 

Org.  My  griefs  are  violent : 

For,  knowing  how  the  maid  was  heretofore 
Courted  by  me,  his  jealousies  grow  wild 
That  I  should  steal  again  into  her  favours, 
And  undermine  her  virtues ;  which  the  gods 
Know  I  nor  dare  nor  dream  of.     Hence,  from  hence, 
I  undertake  a  voluntary  exile ; 
First,  by  my  absence  to  take  off  the  cares 
Of  jealous  Bassanes;  but  chiefly,  sir, 
To  free  Penthea  from  a  hell  on  earth ; 
Lastly,  to  lose  the  memory  of  something 

1  i.e.  Convince  himself. 


IQ2  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  i. 

Her  presence  makes  to  live  in  me  afresh. 

Crot.  Enough,  my  Orgilus,  enough.     To  Athens, 
I  give  a  full  consent. — Alas,  good  lady  ! — 
We  shall  hear  from  thee  often  ? 

Org.  Often. 

Crot.  See, 

Thy  sister  comes  to  give  a  farewell. 

Enter  EUPHRANEA. 

Euph.  Brother ! 

Org.   Euphranea,  thus  upon  thy  cheeks  I  print 
A  brother's  kiss;  more  careful  of  thine  honour, 
Thy  health,  and  thy  well-doing,  than  my  life. 
Before  we  part,  in  presence  of  our  father, 
I  must  prefer  a  suit  t'  ye. 

Euph.  You  may  style  it, 

My  brother,  a  command. 

Org.  That  you  will  promise 

Never  to  pass  to  any  man,  however 
Worthy,  your  faith,  till,  with  our  father's  leave, 
I  give  a  free  consent. 

Crot.  Ah  easy  motion  ! 

I'll  promise  for  her,  Orgilus. 

Org.  Your  pardon ; 

Euphranea's  oath  must  yield  me  satisfaction. 

Euph.  By  Vesta's  sacred  fires  I  swear. 

Crot.  And  I, 

By  great  Apollo's  beams,  join  in  the  vow, 
Not  without  thy  allowance  to  bestow  her 
On  any  living. 

Org.  Dear  Euphranea, 

Mistake  me  not :  far,  far  'tis  from  my  thought, 
As  far  from  any  wish  of  mine,  to  hinder 
Preferment  to  an  honourable  bed 
Or  fitting  fortune ;  thou  art  young  and  handsome ; 
And  'twere  injustice, — more,  a  tyranny, — 
Not  to  advance  thy  merit :  trust  me,  sister, 


SCENE  ii.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  193 

It  shall  be  my  first  care  to  see  thee  matched 
As  may  become  thy  choice  and  our  contents. 
I  have  your  oath. 

Euph.  You  have.     But  mean  you,  brother, 

To  leave  us,  as  you  say  ? 

Crot.  Ay,  ay,  Euphranea  : 

He  has  just  grounds  direct  him.     I  will  prove 
A  father  and  a  brother  to  thee. 

Euph.  Heaven 

Does  look  into  the  secrets  of  all  hearts  : 
Gods,  you  have  mercy  with  ye,  else — 

Crot.  Doubt  nothing ; 

Thy  brother  will  return  in  safety  to  us. 

Org.     Souls  sunk  in  sorrows  never  are  without  'em ; 
They  change  fresh  airs,  but  bear  their  griefs  about  'em. 

\Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. — A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Flourish.     Enter  AMYCLAS,  ARMOSTES,  PROPHILUS, 
Courtiers,  and  Attendants. 

Amy.  The  Spartan  gods  are  gracious ;  our  humility 
Shall  bend  before  their  altars,  and  perfume 
Their  temples  with  abundant  sacrifice. 
See,  lords,  Amyclas,  your  old  king,  is  entering 
Into  his  youth  again  !  I  shall  shake  off 
This  silver  badge  of  age,  and  change  this  snow 
For  hairs  as  gay  as  are  Apollo's  locks ; 
Our  heart  leaps  in  new  vigour. 

Arm.  May  old  time 

.  Run  back  to  double  your  long  life,  great  sir ! 

Amy.  It  will,  it  must,  Armostes :  thy  bold  nephew, 
Death-braving  Ithocles,  brings  to  our  gates 
Triumphs  and  peace  upon  his  conquering  sword. 
Laconia  is  a  monarchy  at  length  ; 

Ford.  O 


194  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  I. 

Hath  in  this  latter  war  trod  under  foot 
Messene's  pride ;  Messene  bows  her  neck 
To  Lacedaemon's  royalty.     O,  'twas 
A  glorious  victory,  and  doth  deserve 
More  than  a  chronicle — a  temple,  lords, 
A  temple  to  the  name  of  Ithocles. — 
Where  didst  thou  leave  him,  Prophilus  ? 

Pro.  At  Pephon, 

Most  gracious  sovereign  ;  twenty  of  the  noblest 
Of  the  Messenians  there  attend  your  pleasure, 
For  such  conditions  as  you  shall  propose 
In  settling  peace,  and  liberty  of  life. 

Amy.  When  comes  your  friend  the  general  ? 

Pro.  He  promised 

To  follow  with  all  speed  convenient. 

Entfr  CALANTHA,  EUPHRANEA;   CHRISTALLA  and 
PHILEMA  with  a  garland ;  and  CROTOLON. 

.Amy.  Our  daughter  ! — Dear  Calantha,  the  happy  news, 
The  conquest  of  Messene,  hath  already 
Enriched  thy  knowledge. 

Cal.  With  the  circumstance 

And  manner  of  the  fight,  related  faithfully 
By  Prophilus  himself.— But,  pray,  sir,  tell  me 
How  doth  the  youthful  general  demean 
His  actions  in  these  fortunes  ? 

Pro.  Excellent  princess, 

Your  .own  fair  eyes  may  soon  report  a  truth 
Unto  your  judgment,  with  what  moderation. 
Calmness  of  nature,  measure,  bounds,  and  limits 
Of  thankfulness  and  joy,  he  doth  digest 
Such  amplitude  of  his  success  as  would 
In  others,  moulded  of  a  spirit  less  clear, 
Advance  'em  to  comparison  with  heaven  : 
But  Ithocles— 

Cql.  Your  friend— 

Pro.  He  is  so,  madam, 


SCENE  II.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  195 

In  which  the  period  of  my  fate  consists,: 
He,  in  this  firmament  of  honour,  stands 
Like  a  star  fixed,  not  moved  with  any  thunder 
Of  popular  applause  or  sudden  lightning 
Of  self-opinion  ;  he  hath  served  his  country, 
And  thinks  'twas  but  his  duty. 

Crot.  You  describe 

A  miracle  of  man. 

Amy,  Such,  Crotolon, 

On  forfeit  of  a  king's  word,  thou  wilt  find  him. — 

\_Flourish, 
Hark,  warning  of  his  coming  !  all  attend  him. 

Enter  ITHOCLES,  ushered  in  by  tJie  Lords,  and  followed  by 
HEMOPHIL  and  GRONEAS. 

Return  into  these  arms,  thy  home,  thy  sanctuary, 
Delight  of  Sparta,  treasure  of  my  bosom, 
Mine  own,  own  Ithocles  ! 

////.  Your  humblest  subject. 

Arm.  Proud  of  the  blood  I  claim  an  interest  in, 
As  brother  to  thy  mother,  I  embrace  thee, 
Right  noble  nephew. 

////,  Sir,  your  love's  too  partial. 

Crot,  Our  country  speaks  by  me,  who  by  thy  valour, 
Wisdom,  and  service,  shares  in  this  great  action ; 
Returning  thee,  in  part  of  thy  due  merits, 
A  general  welcome. 

////.  You  exceed  in  bounty. 

Cal.  Christalla,  Philema,  the  chaplet.  \Takesthechaplet 

from  thcm.~\ — Ithocles, 
Lfpon  the  wings  of  fame  the  singular 
And  chosen  fortune  of  an  high  attempt 
Is  borne  so  past  the  view  of  common  sight, 
That  I  myself  with  mine  own  hands  have  wrought, 
To  rrown  thy  temples,  this  provincial  garland ' : 

1  i.e.  The  laurel  wreath  conferred  on  those  who  added  a  province 
\a  the  empire. 


196  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  I. 

Accept,  wear,  and  enjoy  it  as  our  gift 
Deserved,  not  purchased. 

Ith.  You're  a  royal  maid. 

Amy.  She  is  in  all  our  daughter. 

////.  Let  me  blush, 

Acknowledging  how  poorly  I  have  served, 
What  nothings  I  have  done,  compared  with  the  honours 
Heaped  on  the  issue  of  a  willing  mind  ; 
In  that  lay  mine  ability,  that  only : 
For  who  is  he  so  sluggish  from  his  birth, 
So  little  worthy  of  a  name  or  country, 
That  owes  not  out  of  gratitude  for  life 
A  debt  of  service,  in  what  kind  soever 
Safety  or  counsel  of  the'  commonwealth 
Requires,  for  payment  ? 

Cal.  He  speaks  truth. 

////.  Whom  heaven 

Is  pleased  to  style  victorious,  there  to  such 
Applause  runs  madding,  like  the  drunken  priests 
In  Bacchus'  sacrifices,  without  reason 
Voicing  the  leader-on  a  demi-god  ; 
Whenas,  indeed,  each  common  soldier's  blood 
Drops  down  as  current  coin  in  that  hard  purchase 
As  his  whose  much  more  delicate  condition 
Hath  sucked  the  milk  of  ease  :  judgment  commands, 
But  resolution  executes.     I  use  not, 
Before  this  royal  presence,  these  fit  slights l 
As  in  contempt  of  such  as  can  direct ; 
My  speech  hath  other  end ;  not  to  attribute 
All  praise  to  one  man's  fortune,  which  is  strengthened 
By  many  hands  :  for  instance,  here  is  Prophilus, 
A  gentleman — I  cannot  flatter  truth — 
Of  much  desert ;  and,  though  in  other  rank, 
Both  Hemophil  and  Groneas  were  not  missing 
To  wish  their  country's  peace ;  for,  in  a  word, 
All  there  did  strive  their  best,  and  'twas  our  duty. 

1  i.e.  Slight  words  fitting  slight  services. 


SCENE  ii.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  197 

Amy.  Courtiers  turn  soldiers ! — We  vouchsafe  our  hand. 
[HEMOPHIL  and  GRONEAS  kiss  his  hand. 
Observe  our  great  example. 

Hem.  With  all  diligence. 

Gron.  Obsequiously  and  hourly. 

Amy.  Some  repose 

After  these  toils  is  needful.  We  must  think  on 
Conditions  for  the  conquered  ;  they  expect  'em. 
On  ! — Come,  my  Ithocles. 

Euph.  Sir,  with  your  favour, 

I  need  not  a  supporter. 

Pro.  Fate  instructs  me. 

\Exit  AMVCLAS  attended,  ITHOCLES,  CALANTHA, 
&c.  As  CHRISTALLA  and  PHILEMA  are  fol 
lowing  CALANTHA  they  are  detained  by  HEMO 
PHIL  and  GRONEAS. 

Chris.  With  me  ? 

Phil.  Indeed  I  dare  not  stay. 

Hem.  Sweet  lady. 

Soldiers  are  blunt, — your  lip.  \Kisscs  her. 

Chris.  Fie,  this  is  rudeness  : 

You  went  not  hence  such  creatures. 

Gro.  Spirit  of  valour 

Is  of  a  mounting  nature. 

Phil.  It  appears  so.— 

Pray,  in  earnest,  how  many  men  apiece 
Have  you  two  been  the  death  of? 

Gro.  'Faith,  not  mariy ; 

We  were  composed  of  mercy. 

Hem.  For  our  daring, 

You  heard  the  general's  approbation 
Before  the  king. 

Chris.  You  "  wished  your  country's  peace;' 

That  showed  your  charity :  where  are  your  spoils. 
Such  as  the  soldier  fights  for  ? 

Phil.  They  are  coming. 

Chris.  By  the  next  carrier,  are  they  not  ? 


igB  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  I. 

Gro.  Sweet  Philema, 

When  I  was  in  the  thickest  of  mine  enemies, 
Slashing  off  one  man's  head,  another's  nose, 
Another's  arms  and  legs, — 

Phil.  And  all  together. 

Gro.  Then  would  I  with  a  sigh  remember  thee, 
And  cry  "  Dear  Philema,  'tis  for  thy  sake 
I  do  these  deeds  of  wonder  !  " — dost  not  love  me 
With  all  thy  heart  now  ? 

Phil.  Now  as  heretofore. 

I  have  not  put  my  love  to  use  ;  the  principal 
Will  hardly  yield  an  interest. 

Gro.  By  Mars, 

I'll  marry  thee ! 

Phil.  By  Vulcan,  you're  forsworn, 

Except  my  mind  do  alter  strangely. 

Gro.  One  word. 

Chris.  You  lie  beyond  all  modesty : — forbear  me. 

Hem.  I'll  make  thee  mistress  of  a  city ;  'tis 
Mine  own  by  conquest. 

Chris.  By  petition  ;  sue  fort 

In  forma  pauperis. — City  !  kennel. — Gallants  ! 
Off  with  your  feathers,  put  on  aprons,  gallants ; 
Learn  to  reel,  thrum,1  or  trim  a  lady's  dog, 
And  be  good  quiet  souls  of  peace,  hobgoblins  ! 

Hem.  Christalla ! 

.Chris.  Practise  to  drill  hogs,  in  hope 

To  share  in  the  acorns. — Soldiers  !  corncutters, 
But  not  so  valiant ;  they  ofttimes  draw  blood, 
Which  you  durst  never  do.     When  you  have  practised 
More  wit  or  more  civility,  we'll  rank  ye 
I'  the  list  of  men  :  till  then,  brave  things-at-arms, 
Dare  not  to  speak  to  us, — most  potent  Groneas  ! — 

Phil.  And  Hemophil  the  hardy  ! — at  your  services. 

\_Exeunt  CHRISTALLA  and  PHILEMA. 

Gro.  They  scorn  us,  as  they  did  before  we  went. 

1  Weave.     Thrum  is,  properly,  the  tuft  at  the  end  of  the  warp. 


SCENE  in.]        THE  BROKEN  HEART.  199 

Hem.  Hang  'em  !  let  us  scorn  them,  and  be  revenged. 

Gro.  Shall  we? 

Hem.  We  will :  and  when  we  slight  them  thus, 

Instead  of  following  them,  they'll  follow  us  ; 
It  is  a  woman's  nature. 

Gro.  'Tis  a  scurvy  one.  {Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— The  Gardens  of  the  Palace.     A  Grove. 

Enter  TECNICUS,  and  ORGILUS  disguised  like  one  of  his 
Scholars. 

Tec.  Tempt  not  the  stars ;  young  man,  thou  canst  not 
With  the  severity  of  fate  :  this  change 
Of  habit  and  disguise  in  outward  view 
Hides  not  the  secrets  of  thy  soul  within  thee 
From  their  quick-piercing  eyes,  which  dive  at  all  times 
Down  to  thy  thoughts  :  in  thy  aspect  I  note 
A  consequence  of  danger. 

Org.  Give  me  leave, 

Grave  Tecnicus,  without  foredooming  destiny, 
Under  thy  roof  to  ease  my  silent  griefs, 
By  applying  to  my  hidden  wounds  the  balm 
Of  thy  oraculous  lectures.     If  my  fortune 
Run  such  a  crooked  by-way  as  to  wrest 
My  steps  to  ruin,  yet  thy  learned  precepts 
Shall  call  me  back  and  set  my  footings  straight. 
I  will  not  court  the  world. 

Tec.  Ah,  Orgilus, 

Neglects  in  young  men  of  delights  and  life 
Run  often  to  extremities  ;  they  care  not 
For  harms  to  others  who  contemn  their  own. 

Org.  But  I,  most  learned  artist,  am  not  so  much 
At  odds  with  nature  that  I  grudge  the  thrift 
Of  any  true  deserver  ;  nor  doth  malice 
Of  present  hopes  so  check  them  with  despair 
As  that  I  yield  to  thought  of  more  affliction 


200  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  i. 

Than  what  is  incident  to  frailty  :  wherefore 
Impute  not  this  retired  course  of  living 
Some  little  time  to  any  other  cause 
Than  what  I  justly  render, — the  information 
Of  an  unsettled  mind ;  as  the  effect 
Must  clearly  witness. 

Tec.  Spirit  of  truth  inspire  thee  ! 

On  these  conditions  I  conceal  thy  change, 
And  willingly  admit  thee  for  an  auditor. — 
I'll  to  my  study. 

Org.  I  to  contemplations 

In  these  delightful  walks.  \_Exit  TECNICUS. 

Thus  metamorphosed, 
I  may  without  suspicion  hearken  after 
Penthea's  usage  and  Euphranea's  faith. 
Love,  thou  art  full  of  mystery  !  the  deities 
Themselves  are  not  secure l  in  searching  out 
The  secrets  of  those  flames,  which,  hidden,  waste 
A-  breast  made  tributary  to  the  laws 
Of  beauty :  physic  yet  hath  never  found 
A  remedy  to  cure  a  lover's  wound. — 
Ha  !  who  are  those  that  cross  yon  private  walk 
Into  the  shadowing  grove  in  amorous  foldings  ? 

PROPHILUS  passes  by,  supporting  EUPHRANEA  and 
whispering. 

My  sister !  O,  my  sister  !  'tis  Euphranea 
With  Prophilus  :  supported  too  !  I  would 
It  were  an  apparition !  Prophilus 
Is  Ithocles  his  friend  :  it  strangely  puzzles  me. 

Re-enter  PROPHILUS  and  EUPHRANEA. 

Again  !  help  me,  my  book ;  this  scholar's  habit 
Must  stand  my  privilege :  my  mind  is  busy, 
Mine  eyes  and  ears  are  open. 

[  Walks  aside,  pretending  to  read. 

1  Certain. 


SCENE  in.]        THE  BROKEN  HEART.  201 

Pro.  Do  not  waste 

The  span  of  this  stol'n  time,  lent  by  the  gods 
For  precious  use,  in  niceness.1     Bright  Euphranea, 
Should  I  repeat  old  vows,  or  study  new, 
For  purchase  of  belief  to  my  desires, — 

Org.   [Aside]   Desires ! 

Pro.  My  service,  my  integrity, — 

Org.  [Aside]  That's  better. 

Pro.  I  should  but  repeat  a  lesson 

Oft  conned  without  a  prompter  but  thine  eyes : 
My  love  is  honourable. 

Org.   [Aside]  So  was  mine 

To  my  Penthea,  chastely  honourable. 

Pro.  Nor  wants  there  more  addition  to  my  wish 
Of  happiness  than  having  thee  a  wife  ; 
Already  sure  of  Ithocles,  a  friend 
Firm  and  unalterable. 

Org.   [Aside]  But  a  brother 

More  cruel  than  the  grave. 

Euph.  What  can  you  look  for, 

In  answer  to  your  noble  protestations, 
From  an  unskilful  maid,  but  language  suited 
To  a  divided  mind  ? 

Org.  [Aside]  Hold  out,  Euphranea  ! 

Euph.  Know,  Prophilus,  I  never  undervalued, 
From  the  first  time  you  mentioned  worthy  love, 
Your  merit,  means,  or  person  :  it  had  been 
A  fault  of  judgment  in  me,  and  a  dulness 
In  my  affections,  not  to  weigh  and  thank 
My  better  stars  that  offered  me  the  grace 
Of  so  much  blissfulness.     For,  to  speak  truth, 
The  law  of  my  desires  kept  equal  pace 
With  yours ;  nor  have  I  left  that  resolution  : 
But  only,  in  a  word,  whatever  choice 
Lives  nearest  in  my  heart  must  first  procure 
Consent  both  from  my  father  and  my  brother, 

1  Preciseness. 


202  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  i. 

Ere  he  can  own  me  his. 

Org.   [Aside]  She  is  forsworn  else. 

Pro.  Leave  me  that  task. 

Euph.  My  brother,  ere  he  parted 

To  Athens,  had  my  oath. 

Org.  [Aside]  Yes,  yes,  he  had,  sure. 

Pro.  I  doubt  not,  with  the  means  the  court  supplies, 
But  to  prevail  at  pleasure. 

Org.   [Aside]  Very  likely  ! 

Pro.  Meantime,  best,  dearest,  I  may  build  my  hopes 
On  the  foundation  of  thy  constant  sufferance 
In  any  opposition. 

Euph.  Death  shall  sooner 

Divorce  life  and  the  joys  I  have  in  living 
Than  my  chaste  vows  from  truth. 

Pro.  On  thy  fair  hand 

I  seal  the  like. 

Org.   \Aside\  There  is  no  faith  in  woman. 
Passion,  O,  be  contained  !  my  very  heart-strings 
Are  on  the  tenters. 

Euph.  Sir,  we  are  overheard. 

Cupid  protect  us  !  'twas  a  stirring, 
Of  some  one  near. 

Pro.  Your  fears  are  needless,  lady  ; 

None  have  access  into  these  private  pleasures 
Except  some  near  in  court,  or  bosom-student 
From  Tecnicus  his  oratory,  granted 
By  special  favour  lately  from  the  king 
Unto  the  grave  philosopher. 

Euph.  Methinks 

I  hear  one  talking  to  himself, — I  see  him. 

Pro.  'Tis  a  poor  scholar,  as  I  told  you,  lady. 

Org.   [Aside]   I  am  discovered.— [ffalf  aloud  to  him 
self,  as  if  studying]  Say  it ;  is  it  possible, 
With  a  smooth  tongue,  a  leering  countenance, 
Flattery,  or  force  of  reason — I  come  t'ye,  sir — 
To  turn  or  to  appease  the  raging  sea  ? 


SCENE  in.]       THE  BROKEN  HEART.  203 

Answer  to  that. — Your  art !  what  art  ?  to  catch 
And  hold  fast  in  a  net  the  sun's  small  atoms  ? 
No,  no  ;  they'll  out,  they'll  out :  ye  may  as  easily 
Outrun  a  cloud  driven  by  a  northern  blast 
As  fiddle-faddle  so  !     Peace,  or  speak  sense. 

Euph.  Call  you  this  thing  a  scholar  ?  'las,  he's  lunatic. 

Pro.  Observe  him,  sweet ;  'tis  but  his  recreation. 

Org.  But  will  you  hear  a  little  ?     You're  so  tetchy, 
You  keep  no  rule  in  argument :  philosophy 
Works  not  upon  impossibilities, 
But  natural  conclusions. — Mew  ! — absurd  ! 
The  metaphysics  are  but  speculations 
Of  the  celestial  bodies,  or  such  accidents 
As  not  mixed  perfectly,  in  the  air  engendered, 
Appear  to  us  unnatural ;  that's  all. 
Prove  it ;  yet,  with  a  reverence  to  your  gravity, 
I'll  balk  illiterate  sauciness,  submitting 
My  sole  opinion  to  the  touch  of  writers. 

Pro.  Now  let  us  fall  in  with  him. 

\They  come  forward. 

Org.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

These  apish  boys,  when  they  but  taste  the  grammates 
And  principles  of  theory,  imagine 
They  can  oppose  their  teachers.     Confidence 
Leads  many  into  errors. 

Pro.  By  your  leave,  sir. 

Eitph.  Are  you  a  scholar,  friend  ? 

Org.  I  am,  gay  creature, 

With  pardon  of  your  deities,  a  mushroom 
On  whom  the  dew  of  heaven  drops  now  and  then  ; 
The  sun  shines  on  me  too,  I  thank  his  beams  ! 
Sometime  I  feel  their  warmth  ;  and  eat  and  sleep. 

Pro.  Does  Tecnicus  read  to  thee  ? 

Org.  Yes,  forsooth, 

He  is  my  master  surely ;  yonder  door 
Opens  upon  his  study. 

Pro.  Happy  creatures  ! 


204  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  I. 

Such  people  toil  not,  sweet,  in  heats  of  state, 
Nor  sink  in  thaws  of  greatness  ;  their  affections 
Keep  order  with  the  limits  of  their  modesty  ; 
Their  love  is  love  of  virtue. — What's  thy  name  ? 

Org.  Aplotes,  sumptuous  master,  a  poor  wretch. 

Euph.  Dost  thou  want  anything  ? 

Org.  Books,  Venus,  books. 

Pro.  Lady,  a  new  conceit  comes  in  my  thought, 
And  most  available  for  both  our  comforts. 

Euph.   My  lord, — 

Pro.  Whiles  I  endeavour  to  deserve 

Your  father's  blessing  to  our  loves,  this  scholar 
May  daily  at  some  certain  hours  attend, 
What  notice  I  can  write  of  my  success, 
Here  in  this  grove,  and  give  it  to  your  hands ; 
The  like  from  you  to  me  :  so  can  we  never, 
Barred  of  our  mutual  speech,  want  sure  intelligence, 
And  thus  our  hearts  may  talk  when  our  tongues  cannot. 
'-Euph.  Occasion  is  most  favourable  ;  use  it. 

Pro.  Aplotes,  wilt  thou  wait  us  twice  a-day, 
At  nine  i'  the  morning  and  at  four  at  night, 
Here  in  this  bower,  to  convey  such  letters 
As  each  shall  send  to  other  ?     Do  it  willingly, 
Safely,  and  secretly,  and  I  will  furnish 
Thy  study,  or  what  else  thou  canst  desire. 

Org.  Jove,  make  me   thankful,    thankful,    I    beseech 

thee, 

Propitious  Jove  !     I  will  prove  sure  and  trusty : 
You  will  not  fail  me  books  ? 

Pro.  Nor  aught  besides 

Thy  heart  can  wish.     This  lady's  name's  Euphranea, 
Mine  Prophilus. 

Org.  I  have  a  pretty  memory  ; 

It  must  prove  my  best  friend.     I  will  not  miss 
One  minute  of  the  hours  appointed. 

Pro.  Write 

The  books  thou  wouldst  have  bought  thee  in  a  note, 


SCENE  in.]       THE  BROKEN  HEART.  205 

Or  take  thyself  some  money. 

Org.  No,  no,  money  ; 

Money  to  scholars  is  a  spirit  invisible, 
We  dare  not  finger  it :  or  books,  or  nothing. 

Pro.  Books  of  what  sort  thou  wilt :  do  not  forget 
Our  names. 

Org.  I  warrant  ye,  I  warrant  ye. 

Pro.  Smile,  Hymen,  on  the  growth  of  our  desires ; 
We'll  feed  thy  torches  with  eternal  fires  ! 

{Exeunt  PROPHILUS  and  EUPHRANEA. 

Org.  Put  out  thy  torches,  Hymen,  or  their  light 
Shall  meet  a  darkness  of  eternal  night ! 
Inspire  me,  Mercury,  with  swift  deceits. 
Ingenious  Fate  has  leapt  into  mine  arms, 
Beyond  the  compass  of  my  brain.     Mortality 
Creeps  on  the  dung  of  earth,  and  cannot  reach 
The  riddles  which  are  purposed  by  the  gods. 
Great  arts  best  write  themselves  in  their  own  stories  ; 
They  die  too  basely  who  outlive  their  glories.  [Exit. 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 


SCENE  I. — A  Room  in  BASSANES'  House. 

Enter  BASSANES  and  PHULAS. 

ASS.  I'll  have  that  window  next  the  street 

dammed  up ; 

It  gives  too  full  a  prospect  to  tempta 
tion, 
And  courts  a  gazer's  glances  :  there's  a 

lust 

Committed  by  the  eye,  that  sweats  and 
travails, 

Plots,  wakes,  contrives,  till  the  deformed  bear-whelp, 
Adultery,  be  licked  into  the  act, 
The  very  act :  that  light  shall  be  dammed  up  ; 
D'ye  hear,  sir  ? 

Phu.  I  do  hear,  my  lord ;  a  mason 

Shall  be  provided  suddenly. 

Bass.  Some  rogue, 

Some  rogue  of  your  confederacy, — factor 
For  slaves  and  strumpets   !— to  convey  close  packets 
From  this  spruce  springal '  and  the  t'other  youngster ; 
That  gaudy  earwig,  or  my  lord  your  patron, 
Whose  pensioner  you  are. — I'll  tear  thy  throat  out, 
Son  of  a  cat,  ill-looking  hound's-head,  rip-up 
Thy  ulcerous  maw,  if  I  but  scent  a  paper, 
A  scroll,  but  half  as  big  as  what  can  cover 
A  wart  upon  thy  nose,  a  spot,  a  pimple, 

1  Youth. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  207 

Directed  to  my  lady ;  it  may  prove 
A  mystical  preparative  to  lewdness. 

Phu.  Care  shall  be  had  :  I  will  turn  every  thread 
About  me  to  an  eye. — \_Aside\  Here's  a  sweet  life  ! 

Bass.  The  city  housewives,  cunning  in  the  traffic 
Of  chamber  merchandise,  set  all  at  price 
By  wholesale  ;  yet  they  wipe  their  mouths  and  simper, 
Cull,1  kiss,  and  cry  "  sweetheart,"  and  stroke  the  head 
Which  they  have  branched  ;  and  all  is  well  again  ! 
Dull  clods  of  dirt,  who  dare  not  feel  the  rubs 
Stuck  on  their  foreheads. 

Phu.  Tis  a  villainous  world  ; 

One  cannot  hold  his  own  in't. 

Bass.  Dames  at  court, 

Who  flaunt  in  riots,  run  another  bias  ; 
Their  pleasure  heaves  the  patient  ass  that  suffers 
Up  on  the  stilts  of  office,  titles,  incomes  ; 
Promotion  justifies  the  shame,  and  sues  for't. 
Poor  honour,  thou  art  stabbed,  and  bleed'st  to  death 
By  such  unlawful  hire  !     The  country  mistress 
Is  yet  more  wary,  and  in  blushes  hides 
Whatever  trespass  draws  her  troth  to  guilt. 
But  all  are  false  :  on  this  truth  I  am  bold, 
No  woman  but  can  fall,  and  doth,  or  would.— 
Now  for  the  newest  news  about  the  city ; 
What  blab  the  voices,  sirrah  ? 

Phu.  O,  my  lord, 

The  rarest,  quaintest,  strangest,  tickling  news 
That  ever — 

Bass.         Hey-day  !  up  and  ride  me,  rascal ! 
What  is't  ? 

Phu.         Forsooth,  they  say  the  king  has  mewed " 
All  his  gray  beard,  instead  of  which  is  budded 
Another  of  a  pure  carnation  colour, 
Speckled  with  green  and  russet. 

Bass.  Ignorant  block! 

1  Embrace.  2  Shed.     A  term  in  falconry. 


208  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  n. 

Phu.  Yes,  truly  ;  and  'tis  talked  about  the  streets, 
That  since  Lord  Ithocles  came  home,  the  lions 
Never  left  roaring,  at  which  noise  the  bears 
Have  danced  their  very  hearts  out. 

Bass.  Dance  out  thine  too. 

Phu.  Besides,  Lord  Orgilus  is  fled  to  Athens 
Upon  a  fiery  dragon,  and  'tis  thought 
He  never  can  return. 

Bass.  Grant  it,  Apollo  ! 

Phu.  Moreover,  please  your  lordship,  'tis  reported 
For  certain,  that  whoever  is  found  jealous 
Without  apparent  proof  that's  wife  is  wanton 
Shall  be  divorced  :  but  this  is  but  she-news  ; 
I  had  it  from  a  midwife.     I  have  more  yet. 

Bass.  Antic,  no  more  !  idiots  and  stupid  fools 
Grate  my  calamities.     Why  to  be  fair 
Should  yield  presumption  of  a  faulty  soul — 
Look  to  the  doors. 
,    Phu.  The  horn  of  plenty  crest  him  ! 

[Afiitte,  and  exit. 

Bass.  Swarms  of  confusion  huddle  in  my  thoughts 
In  rare  distemper.— Beauty  !  O,  it  is 
An  unmatched  blessing  or  a  horrid  curse. 
She  comes,  she  comes  !  so  shoots  the  morning  forth, 
Spangled  with  pearls  of  transparent  dew. — 
The  way  to  poverty  is  to  be  rich, 
As  I  in  her  am  wealthy  ;  but  for  her, 
In  all  contents  a  bankrupt. 

Enter  PENTHEA  and  GRAUSIS. 

Loved  Penthea ! 
How  fares  my  heart's  best  joy  ? 

Grau.  In  sooth,  not  well, 

She  is  so  over-sad. 

Bass.  Leave  chattering,  magpie. — 

Thy  brother  is  returned,  sweet,  safe,  and  honoured 
With  a  triumphant  victory  ;  thou  shalt  visit  him  : 


SCENE  i.]          THE  BROKEN  HEART.  209 

We  will  to  court,  where,  if  it  be  thy  pleasure, 
Thou  shalt  appear  in  such  a  ravishing  lustre 
Of  jewels  above  value,  that  the  dames 
Who  brave  it  there,  in  rage  to  be  outshined, 
Shall  hide  them  in  their  closets,  and  unseen 
Fret  in  their  tears ;  whiles  every  wondering  eye 
Shall  crave  none  other  brightness  but  thy  presence. 
Choose  thine  own  recreations ;  be  a  queen 
Of  what  delights  thou  fanciest  best,  what  company, 
What  place,  what  times ;  do  anything,  do  all  things 
Youth  can  command,  so  thou  wilt  chase  these  clouds 
From  the  pure  firmament  of  thy  fair  looks. 

Grau.  Now  'tis  well  said,  my  lord. — What,  lady !  laugh, 
Be  merry ;  time  is  precious. 

Bass.  \_Aside\  Furies  whip  thee  ! 

Pen.  Alas,  my  lord,  this  language  to  your  hand-maid 
Sounds  as  would  music  to  the  deaf;  I  need 
No  braveries  nor  cost  of  art  to  draw 
The  whiteness  of  my  name  into  offence  : 
Let  such,  if  any  such  there  are,  who  covet 
A  curiosity  of  admiration, 
By  laying-out  their  plenty  to  full  view, 
Appear  in  gaudy  outsides ;  my  attires 
Shall  suit  the  inward  fashion  of  my  mind  ; 
From  which,  if  your  opinion,  nobly  placed, 
Change  not  the  livery  your  words  bestow, 
My  fortunes  with  my  hopes  are  at  the  highest. 

Bass.  This  house,  methinks,  stands  somewhat  too  much 

inward, 

It  is  too  melancholy  ;  we'll  remove 
Nearer  the  court :  or  what  thinks  my  Penthea 
Of  the  delightful  island  we  command  ? 
Rule  me  as  thou  canst  wish. 

Pen.  I  am  no  mistress  : 

Whither  you  please,  I  must  attend  ;  all  ways 
Are  alike  pleasant  to  me. 

Grau.  Island  !  prison  ; 

Ford.  p  « 


2io  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  n. 

A  prison  is  as  gaysome  :  we'll  no  islands ; 
Marry,  out  upon  'em  !  whom  shall  we  see  there  ? 
Sea-gulls,  and  porpoises,  and  water-rats, 
And  crabs,  and  mews,  and  dog-fish  ;  goodly  gear 
For  a  young  lady's  dealing, — or  an  old  one's  ! 
On  no  terms  islands ;  I'll  be  stewed  first. 

Bass*  \Aside  to  GRAUSIS]  Grausis, 

You  are  a  juggling  bawd. — This  sadness,  sweetest, 
Becomes  not  youthful  blood. — \Asidc  to  GRAUSIS]  I'll 

have  you  pounded. — 

For  my  sake  put  on  a  more  cheerful  mirth  ; 
Thou'lt  mar  thy  cheeks,  and  make  me  old  in  griefs. — 
\Aside  to  GRAUSIS]  Damnable  bitch-fox  ! 

Grau.  I  am  thick  of  hearing, 

Still,  when  the  wind  blows  southerly. — What  think  ye, 
If  your  fresh  lady  breed  young  bones,  my  lord  ! 
Would  not  a  chopping  boy  d'ye  good  at  heart  ? 
But,  as  you  said — 

v  Bass.  \Aside  to  GRAUSIS]  I'll  spit  thee  on  a  stake, 
Qr  chop  thee  into  collops  ! 

Grau.  Pray,  speak  louder. 

Sure,  sure  the  wind  blows  south  still. 

Pen.  Thou  prat'st  madly. 

Bass.  'Tis  very  hot ;  I  sweat  extremely. 

Re-enter  PHULAS. 

Now? 

Phu.  A  herd  of  lords,  sir. 

Bass.  Ha ! 

Phu.  A  flock  of  ladies. 

Bass.  Where? 

Phu.  Shoals  of  horses. 

Bass.  Peasant,  how  ? 

P/ni.  Caroches * 

In  drifts ;  the  one  enter,  the  other  stand  without,  sir  : 
And  now  I  vanish.  {Exit, 

i  Coaches. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  211 

Enter  PROPHILUS,  HEMOPHIL,  GRONEAS,  CHRISTALLA, 
and  PHILEMA. 

Pro.  Noble  Bassanes  ! 

Bass.  Most  welcome,  Prophilus ;  ladies,  gentlemen, 
To  all  my  heart  is  open  ;  you  all  honour  me,— 
\Aside\  A  tympany  swells  in  my  head  already, — 
Honour  me  bountifully. — \^Aside\   How  they  flutter, 
Wagtails  and  jays  together  ! 

Pro.  From  your  brother 

By  virtue  of  your  love  to  him,  I  require 
Your  instant  presence,  fairest. 

Pen.  He  is'well,  sir? 

Pro.  The  gods  preserve  him  ever  !     Yet,  dear  beauty, 
I  find  some  alteration  in  him  lately, 
Since  his  return  to  Sparta. — My  good  lord, 
I  pray,  use  no  delay. 

jBass.  We  had  not  needed 

An  invitation,  if  his  sister's  health 
Had  not  fall'n  into  question. — Haste,  Penthea, 
Slack  not  a  minute. — Lead  the  way,  good  Prophilus  ; 
I'll  follow  step  by  step. 

Pro.  Your  arm.  fair  madam. 

\Exeunt  all  but  BASSANES  and  GRAUSIS. 

Bass.  One  word  with  your  old  bawdship  :  th'  hadst 

been  better 

Railed  at  the  sins J  thou  worshipp'st  than  have  thwarted 
My  will :  I'll  use  thee  cursedly 

Grau.  You  dote, 

You  are  beside  yourself.     A  politician 
In  jealousy  ?  no,  you're  too  gross,  too  vulgar. 
Pish,  teach  not  me  my  trade  ;  I  know  my  cue- : 
My  crossing  you  sinks  me  into  her  trust, 
By  which  I  shall  know  all ;  my  trade's  a  sure  one. 

Bass.  Forgive  me,  Grausis,  'twas  consideration 
I  relished  not ;  but  have  a  care  now. 

1  Altered  by  Giffoid  to  "saints." 


212  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  n. 

Grau.  Fear  not, 

I  am  no  new-come-to't. 

Bass.  Thy  life's  upon  it, 

And  so  is  mine.     My  agonies  are  infinite.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.     The  Palace.     ITHOCLES'  Apartment. 
Enter  ITHOCLES. 

Ith.  Ambition  !  'tis  of  vipers'  breed :  it  gnaws 
A  passage  through  the  womb  that  gave  it  motion. 
Ambition,  like  a  seeled  *  dove,  mounts  upward, 
Higher  and  higher  still,  to  perch  on  clouds, 
But  tumbles  headlong  down  with  heavier  ruin. 
So  squibs  and  crackers  fly  into  the  air, 
Then,  only  breaking  with  a  noise,  they  vanish 
In  stench  and  smoke.     Morality,  applied 
kTo  timely  practice,  keeps  the  soul  in  tune, 
At  whose  sweet  music  all  our  actions  dance  : 
But  this  is  formed  of  books  and  school-tradition  ; 
It  physics  not  the  sickness  of  a  mind 
Broken  with  griefs  :  strong  fevers  are  not  eased 
With  counsel,  but  with  best  receipts  and  means ; 
Means,  speedy  means  and  certain ;  that's  the  cure. 

Enter  ARMOSTES  and  CROTOLON. 

Arm.  You  stick,  Lord  Crotolon,  upon  a  point- 
Too  nice  and  too  unnecessary ;  Prophilus 
Is  every  way  desertful.     I  am  confident 
Your  wisdom  is  too  ripe  to  need  instruction 
From  your  son's  tutelage. 

Crot.  Yet  not  so  ripe, 

My  Lord  Armostes,  that  it  dare  to  dote 
Upon  the  painted  meat2  of  smooth  persuasion, 
Which  tempts  me  to  a  breach  of  faith. 

1  Blinded  by  sewing  up  the  eye-lids,  '-  ?  Bait. 


SCENE  II.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  213 

////.  Not  yet 

Resolved,  my  lord  ?     Why,  if  your  son's  consent 
Be  so  available,  we'll  write  to  Athens 
For  his  repair  to  Sparta  :  the  king's  hand 
Will  join  with  our  desires  ;  he  has  been  moved  to't. 

Arm.  Yes,  and  the  king  himself  importuned  Crotolon 
For  a  dispatch. 

Crot.  Kings  may  command  ;  their  wills 

Are  laws  not  to  be  questioned. 

////.  By  this  marriage 

You  knit  an  union  so  devout,  so  hearty, 
Between  your  loves  to  me  and  mine  to  yours, 
As  if  mine  own  blood  had  an  interest  in  it  ; 
For  Prophilus  is  mine,  and  I  am  his. 

Crot.  My  lord,  my  lord  ! — 

////.  What,  good  sir  ?  speak  your  thought. 

Crot.  Had  this  sincerity  been  real  once, 
My  Orgilus  had  not  been  now  unwived, 
Nor  your  lost  sister  buried  in  a  bride-bed  : 
Your  uncle  here,  Armostes,  knows  this  truth  ; 
For  had  your  father  Thrasus  lived, — but  peace 
Dwell  in  his  grave !  I've  done. 

Arm.  You're  bold  and  bitter. 

////.  \Aside\.  He  presses  home  the  injury;  it  smarts. — 
No  reprehensions,  uncle  ;  I  deserve  'em, 
Yet,  gentle  sir,  consider  what  the  heat 
Of  an  unsteady  youth,  a  giddy  brain, 
Green  indiscretion,  flattery  of  greatness, 
Rawness  of  judgment,  wilfulness  in  folly, 
Thoughts  vagrant  as  the  wind  and  as  uncertain, 
Might  lead  a  boy  in  years  to  : — 'twas  a  fault, 
A  capital  fault ;  for  then  I  could  not  dive 
Into  the  secrets  of  commanding  love  ; 
Since  when  experience,  by  the  extremes  in  others, 
Hath  forced  me  collect — and,  trust  me,  Crotolon, 
I  will  redeem  those  wrongs  with  any  service 
Your  satisfaction  can  require  for  current. 


214  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  n. 

Arm.  The  acknowledgment  is  satisfaction  : 
What  would  you  more  ? 

Crot.  I'm  conquered  :  if  Euphranea 

Herself  admit  the  motion,  let  it  be  so  ; 
I  doubt  not  my  son's  liking. 

Ith.  Use  my  fortunes, 

Life,  power,  sword,  and  heart, — all  are  your  own. 

Arm.  The  princess,  with  your  sister. 

Enter  CALANTHA,  PENTHEA,  EUPHRANEA,  CHRISTALLA, 
PHILEMA,  GRAUSIS,  BASSANES,  and  PROPHILUS. 

Cal.  I  present  ye 

A  stranger  here  in  court,  my  lord  ;  for  did  not 
Desire  of  seeing  you  draw  her  abroad, 
We  had  not  been  made  happy  in  her  company. 

Ith.  You  are  a  gracious  princess. — Sister,  wedlock 
Holds  too  severe  a  passion  in  your  nature, 
Which  can  engross  all  duty  to  your  husband, 
Without  attendance  on  so  dear  a  mistress. — 
\To  BASSANES]  'Tis  not  my  brother's  pleasure,  I  presume, 
T'  immure  her  in  a  chamber. 

Bass.  'Tis  her  will ; 

She  governs  her  own  hours.     Noble  Ithocles, 
We  thank  the  gods  for  your  success  and  welfare  : 
Our  lady  has  of  late  been  indisposed, 
Else  we  had  waited  on  you  with  the  first. 

Ith.  How  does  Penthea  now  ? 

Pen.  You  best  know,  brother. 

From  whom  my  health  and  comforts  are  derived. 

Bass.  \Aside^\   I   like  the   answer  well ;  'tis  sad  and 

modest. 
There  may  be  tricks  yet,  tricks. — Have  an  eye,  Grausis  ! 

Cal.  Now,  Crotolon,  the  suit  we  joined  in  must  not 
Fall  by  too  long  demur. 

Crot.  'Tis  granted,  princess, 

For  my  part. 

Arm.  With  condition,  that  his  son 

Favour  the  contract. 


SCENE  II.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  215 

Cal.  Such  delay  is  easy. — 

The  joys  of  marriage  make  thee,  Prophilus, 
A  proud  deserver  of  Euphranea's  love, 
And  her  of  thy  desert ! 

Pro.  Most  sweetly  gracious  ! 

Bass.  The  joys  of  marriage  are  the  heaven  on  earth, 
Life's  paradise,  great  princess,  the  soul's  quiet, 
Sinews  of  concord,  earthly  immortality, 
Eternity  of  pleasures  ; — no  restoratives 
Like  to  a  constant  woman  !• — \Aside\  But  where  is  she  ? 
'Twould  puzzle  all  the  gods  but  to  create 
Such  a  new  monster. — I  can  speak  by  proof, 
For  I  rest  in  Elysium  ;  'tis  my  happiness. 

Crot.  Euphranea,  how  are  you  resolved,  speak  freely, 
In  your  affections  to  this  gentleman  ? 

Euph.  Nor  more  nor  less  than  as  his  love  assures  me  ; 
Which — if  your  liking  with  my  brother's  warrants — 
I  cannot  but  approve  in  all  points  worthy. 

Crot.  So,  so  ! — [To  PROPHILUS]  I  know  your  answer. 

Ith.  'T  had  been  pity 

To  sunder  hearts  so  equally  consented. 

Enter  HEMOPHIL. 

Hem.  The  king,  Lord  Ithocles,  commands  your  pre 
sence  ; — 
And,  fairest  princess,  yours. 

Cal.  We  will  attend  him. 

Enter  GRONEAS. 

Gro.  Where  are  the  lords  ?  all  must  unto  the  king 
Without  delay  :  the  Prince  of  Argos — 

Cal.  Well,  sir  ? 

Gro.  Is  coming  to  the  court,  sweet  lady. 

Cal.  How 

The  Prince  of  Argos  ? 

Gro.  'Twas  my  fortune,  madam, 

T'  enjoy  the  honour  of  these  happy  tidings. 


216  .THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  n. 

////.  Penthea  !— 

Pen.  Brother  ? 

////.  Let  me  an  hour  hence 

Meet  you  alone  within  the  palace-grove ; 
I  have  some  secret  with  you. — Prithee,  friend, 
Conduct  her  thither,  and  have  special  care 
The  walks  be  cleared  of  any  to  disturb  us. 

Pro.  I  shall. 

Bass.  \Aside\     How's  that? 

Ith.  Alone,  pray  be  alone.-- 

I  am  your  creature,  princess.— On,  my  lords  ! 

\Exeunt  all  but  BASSANES. 

Bass.  Alone  !  alone  !  what  means  that  word  "  alone  "  ? 
Why  might  not  I  be  there  ? — hum  ! — he's  her  brother. 
Brothers  and  sisters  are  but  flesh  and  blood, 
And  this  same  whoreson  court-ease  is  temptation  , 
To  a  rebellion  in  the  veins ; — -besides, 
His  fine  friend  Prophilus  must  be  her  guardian  : 
Why  may  not  he  dispatch  a  business  nimbly 
Before  the  other  come  ? — or — pandering,  pandering 
For  one  another, — be't  to  sister,  mother, 
Wife,  cousin,  anything, — 'mongst  youths  of  mettle 
Is  in  request ;  it  is  so — stubborn  fate  ! 
But  if  I  be  a  cuckold,  and  can  know  it, 
I  will  be  fell,  and  fell. 

Re-enter  GRONEAS. 

Gro.  My  lord,  you're  called  for. 

Bass.  Most  heartily  I  thank  ye.  Where's  my  wife, 
pray? 

Gro.  Retired  amongst  the  ladies. 

Bass.  Still  I  thank  ye. 

There's  an  old  waiter  with  her  ;  saw  you  her  too  ? 

Gro.  She  sits  i'  the  presence-lobby  fast  asleep,  sir. 

Bass.  Asleep  !  asleep,  sir  ! 

Gro.  Is  your  lordship  troubled  ? 

You  will  not  to  the  king  ? 


SCENE  ill.]       THE  BROKEN  HEART.  217 

Bass.  Your  humblest  vassal. 

Gro.  Your  servant,  my  good  lord. 
Bass.  I  wait  your  footsteps. 

\Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— The  Gardens  of  the  Palace.     A  Grove. 
Enter  PROPHILUS  and  PENTHEA. 

Pro.  In  this  walk,  lady,  will  your  brother  find  you  : 
And,  with  your  favour,  give  me  leave  a  little 
To  work  a  preparation.     In  his  fashion 
I  have  observed  of  late  some  kind  of  slackness 
To  such  alacrity  as  nature  once 
And  custom  took  delight  in ;  sadness  grows 
Upon  his  recreations,  which  he  hoards 
In  such  a  willing  silence,  that  to  question 
The  grounds  will  argue  little  skill  in  friendship, 
And  less  good  manners. 

Pen.  Sir,  I'm  not  inquisitive 

Of  secrecies  without  an  invitation. 

Pro.     With  pardon,  lady,  not  a  syllable 
Of  mine  implies  so  rude  a  sense ;  the  drift — 

Enter  ORGILUS,  disguised  as  before. 

[To  Org.}  Do  thy  best 

To  make  this  lady  merry  for  an  hour. 

Org.  Your  will  shall  be  a  law,  sir.     \Exit  PROPHILUS. 

Pen.  Prithee,  leave  me ; 

I  have  some  private  thoughts  I  would  account  with  ; 
Use  thou  thine  own. 

Org.  Speak  on,  fair  nymph  ;  our  souls 

Can  dance  as  well  to  music  of  the  spheres 
As  any's  who  have  feasted  with  the  gods. 

Pen.  Your  school-terms  are  too  troublesome. 

Org.  What  Heaven 

Refines  mortality  from  dross  of  earth 


218  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  n. 

But  such  as  uncompounded  beauty  hallows 
With  glorified  perfection  ? 

Pen.  Set  thy  wits 

In  a  less  wild  proportion. 

Org.  Time  can  never 

On  the  white  table  of  unguilty  faith 
Write  counterfeit  dishonour ;  turn  those  eyes, 
The  arrows  of  pure  love,  upon  that  fire, 
Which  once  rose  to  a  flame,  perfumed  with  vows 
As  sweetly  scented  as  the  incense  smoking 

On  Vesta's  altars, l 

.     .     .  the  holiest  odours,  virgin's  tears, 
.     .     .     .  sprinkled,  like  dews,  to  feed  them 
And  to  increase  their  fervour. 

Pen.  Be  not  frantic, 

Org.  All  pleasures  are  but  mere  imagination, 
Feeding  the  hungry  appetite  with  steam 
And  sight  of  banquet,  whilst  the  body  pines, 
Not  relishing  the  real  taste  of  food  : 
Such  is  the  leanness  of  a  heart  divided 
From  intercourse  of  troth-contracted  loves ; 
No  horror  should  deface  that  precious  figure 
Sealed  with  the  lively  stamp  of  equal  souls. 

Pen.  Away  !  some  Fury  hath  bewitched  thy  tongue  : 
The  breath  of  ignorance,  that  flies  from  thence, 
Ripens  a  knowledge  in  me  of  afflictions 
Above  all  sufferance. — Thing  of  talk,  begone  ! 
Begone,  without  reply ! 

Org.  Be  just,  Penthea, 

In  thy  commands  ;  when  thou  send'st  forth  a  doom 
Of  banishment,  know  first  on  whom  it  lights. 
Thus  I  take  off  the  shroud,  in  which  my  cares 

1  This  passage  is  corrupt ;  it  was  amended  by  Gifford ;  the  old 
copy,reads, 

"  as  the  incense  smoking 
The  holiest  artars,  virgin  tears  (like 
On  Vesta's  odours)  sprinkled  dews  to  feed  'em, 
And  to  increase,"  &c. 


SCEXEIII.]       THE  BROKEN  HEART.  219 

Are  folded  up  from  view  of  common  eyes. 

{Throws  off  his  Scholar's  dress. 
What  is  thy  sentence  next  ? 

Pen.  Rash  man  !  thou  lay'st 

A  blemish  on  mine  honour,  with  the  hazard 
Of  thy  too-desperate  life  :  yet  I  profess, 
By  all  the  laws  of  ceremonious  wedlock, 
I  have  not  given  admittance  to  one  thought 
Of  female  change  since  cruelty  enforced 
Divorce  betwixt  my  body  and  my  heart. 
Why  would  you  fall  from  goodness  thus  ? 

Org.  O,  rather 

Examine  me,  how  I  could  live  to  say 
I  have  been  much,  much  wronged.     'Tis  for  thy  sake 
I  put  on  this  imposture  :  dear  Penthea, 
If  thy  soft  bosom  be  not  turned  to  marble, 
Thou'lt  pity  our  calamities  ;  my  interest 
Confirms  me  thou  art  mine  still. 

Pen.  Lend  your  hand  ; 

With  both  of  mine  I  clasp  it  thus,  thus  kiss  it, 
Thus  kneel  before  ye.  [PENTHEA  kneels. 

Org.  You  instruct  my  duty.    [ORGILUS  kneels. 

Pen.  We  may  stand  up.  \They  rise.~\  Have  you  aught 

else  to  urge 

Of  new  demand  ?  as  for  the  old,  forget  it ; 
'Tis  buried  in  an  everlasting  silence, 
And  shall  be,  shall  be  ever  :  what  more  would  ye  ? 

Org.  I  would  possess  my  wife ;  the  equity 
Of  very  reason  bids  me. 

Pen.  Is  that  all  ? 

Org.  Why,  'tis  the  all  of  me,  myself. 

Pen.  Remove 

Your  steps  some  distance  from  me  : — at  this  space 
A  few  words  I  dare  change  ;  but  first  put  on 
Your  borrowed  shape. 

Org.  You  are  obeyed  ;  'tis  done. 

[Ife  resumes  his  disguise. 


220  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  n. 

Pen.  How,  Orgilus,  by  promise  I  was  thine 
The  heavens  do  witness ;  they  can  witness  too 
A  rape  done  on  my  truth  :  how  I  do  love  thee 
Yet,  Orgilus;  and  yet,  must  best  appear 
In  tendering  thy  freedom  ;  for  I  find 
The  constant  preservation  of  thy  merit, 
By  thy  not  daring  to  attempt  my  fame 
With  injury  of  any  loose  conceit, 
Which  might  give  deeper  wounds  to  discontents. 
Continue  this  fair  race  :  then,  though  I  cannot 
Add  to  thy  comfort,  yet  I  shall  more  often 
Remember  from  what  fortune  I  am  fall'n, 
And  pity  mine  own  ruin. — Live,  live  happy, — 
Happy  in  thy  next  choice,  that  thou  mayst  people 
This  barren  age  with  virtues  in  thy  issue  ! 
And  O,  when  thou  art  married,  think  on  me 
With  mercy,  not  contempt !  I  hope  thy  wife, 
Hearing  my  story,  will  not  scorn  my  fall. — 
Now  let  us  part. 

Org.  Part  !  yet  advise  thee  better  : 

Penthea  is  the  wife  to  Orgilus, 
And  ever  shall  be. 

Pen.  Never  shall  nor  will. 

Org.  How ! 

Pen.  Hear  me  ;  in  a  word  I'll  tell  thee  why. 

The  virgin-dowry  which  my  birth  bestowed 
Is  ravished  by  another ;  my  true  love 
Abhors  to  think  that  Orgilus  deserved 
No  better  favours  than  a  second  bed. 

Org.  I  must  not  take  this  reason. 

Pen.  To  confirm  it ; 

Should  I  outlive  my  bondage,  let  me  meet 
Another  worse  than  this  and  less  desired, 
If,  of  all  men  alive,  thou  shouldst  but  touch 
My  lip  or  hand  again  ! 

Org.  Penthea,  now 

I  tell  ye,  you  grow  wanton  in  my  sufferance  : 
Come,  sweet,  thou'rt  mine. 


SCENE  ill.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  221 

Pen.  Uncivil  sir,  forbear  ! 

Or  I  can  turn  affection  into  vengeance  ; 
Your  reputation,  if  you  value  any, 
Lies  bleeding  at  my  feet.     Unworthy  man, 
If  ever  henceforth  thou  appear  in  language, 
Message,  or  letter,  to  betray  my  frailty, 
I'll  call  thy  former  protestations  lust, 
And  curse  my  stars  for  forfeit  of  my  judgment. 
Go  thou,  fit  only  for  disguise,  and  walks, 
To  hide  thy  shame  :  this  once  I  spare  thy  life. 
I  laugh  at  mine  own  confidence  ;  my  sorrows 
By  thee  are  made  inferior  to  my  fortunes. 
If  ever  thou  didst  harbour  worthy  love, 
Dare  not  to  answer.     My  good  genius  guide  me, 
That  I  may  never  see  thee  more  ! — Go  from  me  !  I 

Org.  I'll  tear  my  veil  of  politic  French  off,  f     » 

And  stand  up  like  a  man  resolved  to  do : 
Action,  not  words,  shall  show  me. — O  Penthea  !     \Exit. 

Pen.  He  sighed  my  name,   sure,  as    he  parted   from 

me  : 

I  fear  I  was  too  rough.     Alas,  poor  gentleman  ! 
He  looked  not  like  the  ruins  of  his  youth, 
But  like  the  ruins  of  those  ruins.     Honour, 
How  much  we  fight  with  weakness  to  preserve  thee  ! 

[  Walks  aside. 
Enter  BASSANES  and  GRAUSIS. 

Bass  Fie  on  thee  !  damn  thee,  rotten  maggot,  damn 

thee  ! 

Sleep  ?  sleep  at  court  ?  and  now  ?     Aches,1  convulsions, 
Imposthumes,  rheums,  gouts,  palsies,  clog  thy  bones 
A  dozen  years  more  yet ! 

Grau.  Now  you're  in  humours. 

Bass.  She's  by  herself,  there's  hope  of  that ;  she's  sad 

too  ; 

She's  in  strong  contemplation  ;  yes,  and  fixed  : 
The  signs  are  wholesome. 

1  The  word  was  pronounced  as  a  dissyllable,  aitches. 


222  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  n. 

Gau.  Very  wholesome,  truly. 

Bass.  Hold  your   chops,    nightmare  ! — Lady,    come  ; 

your  brother 
Is  carried  to  his  closet ;  you  must  thither. 

Pen.  Not  well,  my  lord  ? 

Bass.  A  sudden  fit ;  'twill  off  ! 

Some  surfeit  or  disorder. — How  dost,  dearest  ? 

Pen.  Your  news  is  none  o'  the  best. 

Re-enter  PROPHILUS. 

Pro.  The  chief  of  men, 

The  excellentest  Ithocles,  desires 
Your  presence,  madam. 

Bass.  We  are  hasting  to  him. 

Pen.  In  vain  we  labour  in  this  course  of  life 
To  piece  our  journey  out  at  length,  or  crave 
Respite  of  breath  :  our  home  is  in  the  grave. 

Bass.  Perfect  philosophy  ! 

Pen.  Then  let  us  care 

To  live  so,  that  our  reckonings  may  fall  even 
When  we're  to  make  account. 

Pro.  He  cannot  fear 

Who  builds  on  noble  grounds  :  sickness  or  pain 
Is  the  deserver's  exercise  ;  and  such 
Your  virtuous  brother  to  the  world  is  known. 
Speak  comfort  to  him,  lady ;  be  all  gentle  : 
Stars  fall  but  in  the  grossness  of  our  sight ; 
A  good  man  dying,  the  earth  doth  lose  a  light. 

\_Exeunt. 


ACT   THE   THIRD. 


SCENE  I.— The  Study  O/TECNICUS. 
Enter  TECNICUS,  and  ORGILUS  in  his  usual  dress. 

EC.  Be  well  advised  ;  let  not  a  resolu 
tion 

Of  giddy  rashness  choke  the  breath 
of  reason. 

Crg.  It  shall  not,  most  sage  master. 
Tec.  I  am  jealous  ;  l 

For  if  the  borrowed  shape  so  late  put 


Inferred  a  consequence,  we  must  conclude 
Some  violent  design  of  sudden  nature 
Hath  shook  that  shadow  off,  to  fly  upon 
A  new-hatched  execution.     Orgilus, 
Take  heed  thou  hast  not,  under  our  integrity, 
Shrouded  unlawful  plots  ;  our  mortal  eyes 
Pierce  not  the  secrets  of  your  heart,  the  gods 
Are  only  privy  to  them. 

Org.  Learned  Tecnicus, 

Such  doubts  are  causeless  ;  and,  to  clear  the  truth 
From  misconceit,  the  present  state  commands  me. 
The  Prince  of  Argos  comes  himself  in  person 
In  quest  of  great  Calantha  for  his  bride, 
Our  kingdom's  heir  ;  besides,  mine  only  sister, 
Euphranea,  is  disposed  to  Prophilus  ; 
Lastly,  the  king  is  sending  letters  for  me 
To  Athens,  for  my  quick  repair  to  court : 

1  Suspicious. 


[on 


224  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  in. 

Please  to  accept  these  reasons. 

Tec.  Just  ones,  Orgilus, 

Not  to  be  contradicted  :  yet  beware 
Of  an  unsure  foundation  ;  no  fair  colours     . 
Can  fortify  a  building  faintly  jointed. 
I  have  observed  a  growth  in  thy  aspe'ct 
Of  dangerous  extent,  sudden,  and — look  to't — 
I  might  add,  certain — 

Org.  My  aspe'ct !  could  art 

Run  through  mine  inmost  thoughts,  it  should  not  sift 
An  inclination  there  more  than  what  suited 
With  justice  of  mine  honour. 

Tec.  I  believe  it. 

But  know  then,  Orgilus,  what  honour  is  : 
Honour  consists  not  in  a  bare  opinion 
By  doing  any  act  that  feeds  content, 
Brave  in  appearance,  'cause  we  think  it  brave ; 
Such  honour  comes  by  accident,  not  nature, 
Proceeding  from  the  vices  of  our  passion, 
Which  makes  our  reason  drunk  :  but  real  honour 
Is  the  reward  of  virtue,  and  acquired 
By  justice,  or  by  valour  which  for  basis 
Hath  justice  to  uphold  it.     He  then  fails 
In  honour,  who  for  lucre  or  revenge 
Commits  thefts,  murders,  treasons,  and  adulteries, 
With  suchlike,  by  intrenching  on  just  laws, 
Whose  sovereignty  is  best  preserved  by  justice. 
Thus,  as  you  see  how  honour  must  be  grounded 
On  knowledge,  not  opinion, — for  opinion 
Relies  on  probability  avnd  accident, 
But  knowledge  on  necessity  and  truth, — 
I  leave  thee  to  the  fit  consideration 
Of  what  becomes  the  grace  of  real  honour, 
Wishing  success  to  all  thy  virtuous  meanings. 

Org.  The  gods  increase  thy  wisdom,  reverend  oracle, 
And  in  thy  precepts  make  me  ever  thrifty  ! 

Tec.  I  thank  thy  wish.  [Exit  ORGILUS. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  225 

v  Much  mystery  of  fate 

Lies  hid  in  that  man's  fortunes ;  curiosity 
May  lead  his  actions  into  rare  attempts  :  — 
But  let  the  gods  be  moderators  still ; 
No  human  power  can  prevent  their  will. 

Enter  ARMOSTES  with  a  casket. 

From  whence  come  ye  ? 

Ann.  From  King  Amyclas, — pardon 

My  interruption  of  your  studies. — Here, 
In  this  sealed  box,  he  sends  a  treasure  to  you, 
Dear  to  him  as  his  crown  :  he  prays  your  gravity, 
You  would  examine,  ponder,  sift,  and  bolt 
The  pith  and  circumstance  of  every  tittle 
The  scroll  within  contains. 

Tec.  What  is't,  Armostes  ? 

Ann.  It  is  the  health  of  Sparta,  the  king's  life, 
Sinews  and  safety  of  the  commonwealth  ; 
The  sum  of  what  the  oracle  delivered 
When  last  he  visited  the  prophetic  temple 
At  Delphos  :  what  his  reasons  are,  for  which, 
After  so  long  a  silence,  he  requires 
Your  counsel  now,  grave  man,  his  majesty 
Will  soon  himself  acquaint  you  with. 

Tec.  Apollo  [He  takes  the  casket. 

Inspire  my  intellect ! — The  Prince  of  Argos 
'  Is  entertained  ? 

Ann.  He  is  ;  and  has  demanded 

Our  princess  for  his  wife  ;  which  I  conceive 
One  special  cause  the  king  importunes  you 
For  resolution  of  the  oracle. 

Tec.  My  duty  to  the  king,  good  peace  to  Sparta, 
And  fair  day  to  Armostes  ! 

Ann.  Like  to  Tecnicus  !   \Excunt. 


Ford. 


226  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  in. 

SCENE  II.— The  Palace.     ITHOCLES'  Apartment. 

Soft  music.  A  so?ig  within,  during  which  PROPHILUS, 
BASSANES,  PENTHEA,  and  GRAUSIS  pass  over  the 
stage.  BASSANES  and  GRAUSIS  re-enter  softly,  and 
listen  in  different  places. 

SONG. 

Can  you  paint  a  thought  ?  or  number  . 
Every  fancy  in  a  slumber  ? 
Can  you  count  soft  minutes  roving 
From  a  dial's  point  by  moving  ? 
Can  you  grasp  a  sigh  ?  or,  lastly, 
Rob  a  virgin's  honour  chastely  ? 

No,  O,  no  !  yet  you  may 
Sooner  do  both  that  and  this, 
This  and  that,  and  never  miss, 

Than  by  any  praise  display- 
Beauty's  beauty  ;  such  a  glory, 
As  beyond  all  fate,  all  story, 
All  arms,  all  arts, 
All  loves,  all  hearts, 
Greater  than  those  or  they, 
Do,  shall,  and  must  obey. 

Bass.  All  silent,  calm,  secure. — Grausis,  no.  creaking? 
No  noise  ?  dost  hear  nothing  ? 

Grau.  Not  a  mouse, 

Or  whisper  of  the  wind. 

Bass.  The  floor  is  matted  ; 

The  bedposts  sure  are  steel  or  marble. — Soldiers 
Should  not  affect,  methinks,  strains  so  effeminate : 
Sounds  of  such  delicacy  are  but  fawnings 
Upon  the  sloth  of  luxury,  they  heighten 
Cinders  of  covert  lust  up  to  a  flame. 

Grau.  What  do  you  mean,  my  lord  ?— speak  low ;  that 

gabbling 
Of  yours  will  but  undo  us. 


SCENE  II.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  227 

Bass.  Chamber-combats 

Are  felt,  not  heard. 

Pro.  [  \Vithin~\      He  wakes. 

Bass.  What's  that  ? 

////.  [  IVit/nn]  Who's  there  ? 

Sister  ? — All  quit  the  room  else. 

Bass.  'Tis  consented ! 

Re-enter  PROPHILUS. 

Pro.  Lord  Bassanes,  your  brother  would  be  private, 
We  must  forbear ;  his  sleep  hath  newly  left  him. 
Please  ye  withdraw. 

Bass.  By  any  means ;  'tis  fit. 

Pro.  Pray,  gentlewoman,  walk  too. 

Grau.  Yes,  I  will,  sir.  \Excnnt. 

The  scene  opens ,-  ITHOCLES  is  discovered  in  a  chair,  and 
PENTHEA  beside  him. 

Ith.  Sit  nearer,  sister  to  me ;  nearer  yet : 
We  had  one  father,  in  one  womb  took  life, 
Were  brought  up  twins  together,  yet  have  lived 
At  distance,  like  two  strangers :  I  could  wish 
That  the  first  pillow  whereon  I  was  cradled 
Had  proved  to  me  a  grave. 

Pen.  You  had  been  happy : 

Then  had  you  never  known  that  sin  of  life 
Which  blots  all  following  glories  with  a  vengeance, 
For  forfeiting  the  last  will  of  the  dead, 
From  whom  you  had  your  being. 

////.  Sad  Penthea, 

Thou  canst  not  be  too  cruel ;  my  rash  spleen 
Hath  with  a  violent  hand  plucked  from  thy  bosom 
A  love-blest  heart,  to  grind  it  into  dust ; 
For  which  mine's  now  a-breaking. 

Pen.  Not  yet,  Heaven, 

I  do  beseech  thee  !  first  let  some  wild  fires 
Scorch,  not  consume  it !  may  the  heat  be  cherished 


228  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  ill. 

With  desires  infinite,  but  hopes  impossible  ! 

////.  Wronged  soul,  thy  prayers  are  heard. 

Pen.  Here,  lo,  I  breathe. 

A  miserable  creature,  led  to  ruin 
By  an  unnatural  brother  ! 

Ith.  .    I  consume 

In  languishing  affections  for  that  trespass ; 
Yet  cannot  die. 

Pen.  The  handmaid  to  the  wages 

Of  country  toil  drinks  the  untroubled  streams 
With  leaping  kids  and  with  the  bleating  lambs, 
And  so  allays  her  thirst  secure ;  whiles  I 
Quench  my  hot  sighs  with  fleetings  of  my  tears. 

Ith.  The  labourer  doth  eat  his  coarsest  bread, 
•Earned  with  his  sweat,  and  lies  him  down  to  sleep; 
While  every  bit  I  touch  turns  in  digestion 
To  gall  as  bitter  as  Penthea's  curse. 
'  Put  me  to  any  penance  for  my  tyranny, 
And  I  will  call  thee  merciful. 

Pen.  Pray  kill  me, 

Rid  me  from  living  with  a  jealous  husband  ; 
Then  we  will  join  in  friendship,  be  again 
Brother  and  sister. — Kill  me,  pray  ;  nay,  will  ye  ? 

Ith.   How  does  thy  lord  esteem  thee  ? 

Pen.  Such  an  one 

As  only  you  have  made  me ;  a  faith-breaker, 
A  spotted  whore  : — forgive  me,  I  am  one — 
In  act,  not  in  desires,  the  gods  must  witness. 

1th.  Thou  dost  belie  thy  friend. 

Pen.  I  do  not,  Ithocles: 

For  she  that's  wite  to  Orgilus,  and  lives 
In  known  adultery  with  Bassanes, 
Is  at  the  best  a  whore.     Wilt  kill  me  now  ? 
The  ashes  of  our  parents  will  assume 
Some  dreadful  figure,  and  appear  to  charge 
Thy  bloody  guilt,  that  hast  betrayed  their  name 
To  infamy  in  this  reproachful  match. 


SCENE  ii.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  229 

////.  After  my  victories  abroad,  at  home 
I  meet  despair ;  ingratitude  of  nature 
Hath  made  my  actions  monstrous  :  thou  shalt  stand 
A  deity,  my  sister,  and  be  worshipped 
For  thy  resolved  martyrdom  ;  wronged  maids 
And  married  wives  shall  to  thy  hallowed  shrine 
Offer  their  orisons,  and  sacrifice 
Pure  turtles,  crowned  with  myrtle  ;  if  thy  pity 
Unto  a  yielding  brother's  pressure  lend 
One  finger  but  to  ease  it. 

Pen.  O,  no  more  ! 

It/i.  Death  waits  to  waft  me  to  the  Stygian  banks, 
And  free  me  from  this  chaos  of  my  bondage ; 
And  till  thou  wilt  forgive,  I  must  endure. 
Pen.  Who  is  the  saint  you  serve  ? 
It/i.  Friendship,  or  nearness 

Of  birth  to  any  but  my  sister,  durst  not 
Have  moved  that  question ;  'tis  a  secret,  sister, 
I  dare  not  murmur  to  myself. 

Pen.  Let  me, 

By  your  new  protestations  I  conjure  ye, 
Partake  her  name. 

////.  Her  name  ? — 'tis — 'tis — I  dare  not. 

Pen.  All  your  respects  are  forged. 
It/i.  They  are  not. — Peace  ! 

Calantha  is — the  princess — the  king's  daughter — 
Sole  heir  of  Sparta. —Me,  most  miserable  ! 
Do  I  now  love  thee  ?  for  my  injuries 
Revenge  thyself  with  bravery,  and  gossip 
My  treasons  to  the  king's  ears,  do  : — Calantha 
Knows  it  not  yet,  nor  Prophilus,  my  nearest. 

Pen.  Suppose   you   were  contracted  to  her,   would  it 

not 

Split  even  your  very  soul  to  see  her  father 
Snatch  her  out  of  your  arms  against  her  will, 
And  force  her  on  the  Prince  of  Argos  ? 

////.  Trouble  not 


230  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  in. 

The  fountains  of  mine  eyes  with  thine  own  story ; 
I  sweat  in  blood  for't. 

Pen.  We  are  reconciled. 

Alas,  sir,  being  children,  but  two  branches 
Of  one  stock,  'tis  not  fit  we  should  divide : 
Have  comfort,  you  may  find  it. 

Ith.  Yes,  in  thee ; 

Only  in  thee,  Penthea  mine. 

Pen.  If  sorrows 

Have  not  too  much  dulled  my  infected  brain, 
I'll  cheer  invention  for  an  active  strain. 

Ith.  Mad    man !    why   have    I   wronged   a   maid   so 
excellent ! 

BASSANES  rushes  in  with  a  poniard,  followed  by  PRO- 
PHILUS,  GRONEAS,  HEMOPHIL,  and  GRAUSIS. 

Bass.   I  can  forbear  no  longer  ;  more,  I  will  not : 
Keep  off  your  hands,  or  fall  upon  my  point. — 
Patience  is  tired  •  for,  like  a  slow-paced  ass, 
Ye  ride  my  easy  nature,  and  proclaim 
My  sloth  to  vengeance  a  reproach  and  property. 

Ith.  The  meaning  of  this  rudeness  ? 

.Pro.  He's  distracted. 

Pen.  O,  my  grieved  lord  ! — • 

Grau.  Sweet  lady,  come  not  near  him  ; 

He  holds  his  perilous  weapon  in  his  hand 
To  prick  he  cares  not  whom  nor  where, — see,  see,  see  ! 

Bass.  My  birth  is  noble  :  though  the  popular  blast 
Of  vanity,  as  giddy  as  thy  youth, 
Hath  reared  thy  name  up  to  bestride  a  cloud, 
Or  progress J  in  the  chariot  of  the  sun, 
I  am  no  clod  of  trade,  to  lackey  pride, 

1  This  passage  is  not  without  curiosity  as  tending  lo  prove  that 
some  of  the  words  now  supposed  to  be  Americanisms  were  in  use 
among  our  ancestors,  and  crossed  the  Atlantic  with  them.  It  is 
not  generally  known  that  Ford's  county  (Devonshire)  supplied  a 
very  considerable  number  of  the  earlier  settlers  in  the  Colonies. — 
Gifford. 


SCENE  II.]        THE  BROKEN  HEART.  231 

Nor,  like  your  slave  of  expectation,  wait 
The  bawdy  hinges  of  your  doors,  or  whistle 
For  mystical  conveyance  to  your  bed-sports. 

Gro.  Fine  humours  !  they  become  him. 

Hem.  How  he  stares, 

Struts,  puffs,  and  sweats  !  most  admirable  lunacy  ! 

////.  But  that  I  may  conceive  the  spirit  of  wine 
Has  took  possession  of  your  soberer  custom, 
I'd  say  you  were  unmannerly. 

Pen.  Dear  brother  !— 

Bass.  Unmannerly ! — mew,  killing  ! — smooth  formality 
Is  usher  to  the  rankness  of  the  blood, 
But  impudence  bears  up  the  train.     Indeed,  sir, 
Your  fiery  mettle,  or  your  springal  blaze 
Of  huge  renown,  is  no  sufficient  royalty 
To  print  upon  my  forehead  the  scorn,  "  cuckold." 

Ith.   His  jealousy  has  robbed  him  of  his  wits  ; 
He  talks  he  knows  not  what. 

Bass.  Yes,  and  he  knows 

To  whom  he  talks ;  to  one  that  franks  his  lust 
In  swine-security  l  of  bestial  incest. 

////.  Ha,  devil ! 

Bass.  I  will  haloo't ;  though  I  blush  more 

To  name  the  filthiness  than  thou  to  act  it. 

Ith.  Monster  !  [Draws  Ms  sword. 

Pro.  Sir,  by  our  friendship — 

Pen.  By  our  bloods  - 

Will  you  quite  both  undo  us,  brother? 

Gran.  Out  on  him  ! 

These  are  his  megrims,  firks,-  and  melancholies. 

Hem.  Well  said,  old  touch-hole. 

Gro.  Kick  him  out  of  doors. 

1  Bassanes  alludes  to  the  small   enclosures — "  franks,"  as  dis 
tinguished  from  "  styes" — in  which  boars  were  fattened.     As  these 
animals  were  dangerous  when  lull-fed,  it  was  necessary  to  shut  them 
up  alone. —  Gifford. 

2  Freaks. 


232  -THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  in. 

Pen.  With  favour,  let  me  speak. — My  lord,  what  slack 
ness 

In  my  obedience  hath  deserved  this  rage  ? 
Except  humility  and  silent  duty 
Have  drawn  on  your  unquiet,  my  simplicity 
Ne'er  studied  your  vexation. 

Bass.  Light  of  beauty, 

Deal  not  ungently  with  a  desperate  wound  ! 
No  breach  of  reason  dares  make  war  with  her 
Whose  looks  are  sovereignty,  whose  breath  is  balm : 
O,  that  I  could  preserve  thee  in  fruition 
As  in  devotion  ! 

Pen.  Sir,  may  every  evil 

Locked  in  Pandora's  box  shower,  in  your  presence, 
On  my  unhappy  head,  if,  since  you  made  me 
A  partner  in  your  bed,  I  have  been  faulty 
In  one  unseemly  thought  against  your  honour  ! 

Ith.  Purge  not  his  griefs,  Penthea. 

^Bass.  Yes,  say  on, 

Excellent  creature  ! — [To  ITHOCLES.]    Good,  be  not  a 

hindrance 

To  peace  and  praise  of  virtue. — O,  my  senses 
Are  charmed  with  sounds  celestial ! — On,  dear,  on  : 
I  never  gave  you  one  ill  word ;  say,  did  I  ? 
Indeed  I  .did  not. 

Pen.  Nor,  by  Juno's  forehead, 

Was  I  e'er  guilty  of  a  wanton  error. 

Bass.  A  goddess  !  let  me  kneel. 

Grau.  Alas,  kind  animal ! 

Ith.  No  ;  but  for  penance. 

Bass.  Noble  sir,  what  is  it  ? 

With  gladness  I  embrace  it ;  yet,  pray  let  not 
My  rashness  teach  you  to  be  too  unmerciful. 

Ith.    When  you  shall   show   good   proof  that   manly 

wisdom, 

Not  overswayed  by  passion  or  opinion, 
Knows  how  to  lead  your  judgment,  then  this  lady, 


SCENE  II.]          THE  BROKEN  HEART.  233 

Your  wife,  my  sister,  shall  return  in  safety 
Home,  to  be  guided  by  you ;  but,  till  first 
I  can  out  of  clear  evidence  approve  it, 
She  shall  be  my  care. 

Bass.  Rip  my  bosom  up, 

I'll  stand  the  execution  with  a  constancy ; 
This  torture  is  insufferable. 

////.  Well,  sir, 

I  dare  not  trust  her  to  your  fury. 

Bass.  But 

Penthea  says  not  so. 

Pen.  She  needs  no  tongue 

To  plead  excuse  who  never  purposed  wrong. 

[Exit  with  ITHOCLES  and  PROPHILUS. 

Hem.  Virgin  of  reverence  and  antiquity, 
Stay  you  behind. 

•    [To  GRAUSIS,  who  is  following  PENTHEA. 

Gro.  The  court  wants  not  your  diligence. 

[Exeunt  HEMOPHIL  and  GRONEAS. 

Gran.  What  will  you  do,  my  lord  ?  my  lady's  gone  ; 
I  am  denied  to  follow. 

Bass.  I  may  see  her, 

Or  speak  to  her  once  more  ? 

Gran.  And  feel  her  too,  man  ; 

Be  of  good  cheer,  she's  your  own  flesh  and  bone. 

Bass.  Diseases  desperate  must  find  cures  alike. 
She  swore  she  has  been  true. 

Gran.  True,  on  my  modesty. 

Bass.  Let  him  want  truth  who  credits  not  her  vows ! 
Much  wrong  I  did  her,  but  her  brother  infinite; 
Rumour  will  voice  me  the  contempt  of  manhood, 
Should  I  run  on  thus :  some  way  I  must  try 
To  outdo  art,  and  jealousy  decry.  [Excnnt. 


234  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  in. 

SCENE  III.  —A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Flourish.  Enter  AMYCLAS,  NEARCHUS,  leading  CALAN- 
THA,  ARMOSTES,  GROTOLON,  EUPHRANEA,  CHRISTALLA, 
PHILEMA,  and  AMELUS. 

Amy.  Cousin  of  Argos,  what  the  heavens  have  pleased, 
In  their  unchanging  counsels,  to  conclude 
For  both  our  kingdoms'  weal,  we  must  submit  to  : 
Nor  can  we  be  unthankful  to  their  bounties, 
Who,  when  we  were  even  creeping  to  our  grave, 
Sent  us  a  daughter,  in  whose  birth  our  hope 
Continues  of  succession.     As  you  are 
In  title  next,  being  grandchild  to  our  aunt, 
So  we  in  heart  desire  you  may  sit  nearest 
Calantha's  love ;  since  we  have  ever  vowed 
Not  to  enforce  affection  by  our  will, 
But  by  her  own  choice  to  confirm  it  gladly. 

Near.  You  speak  the  nature  of  a  right  just  father. 
Income  not  hither  roughly  to  demand 
My  cousin's  thraldom,  but  to  free  mine  own  : 
Report  of  great  Calantha's  beauty,  virtue, 
Sweetness,  and  singular  perfections,  courted 
All  ears  to  credit  what  I  find  was  published 
By  constant  truth ;  from  which,  if  any  service 
Of  my  desert  can  purchase  fair  construction, 
This  lady  must  command  it. 

Cal.  Princely  sir, 

So  well  you  know  how  to  profess  observance, 
That  you  instruct  your  hearers  to  become 
Practitioners  in  duty;  of  which  number 
I'll  study  to  be  chief. 

Near.  Chief,  glorious  virgin, 

In  my  devotion,  as  in  all  men's  wonder. 

Amy.  Excellent  cousin,  we  deny  no  liberty ; 
Use  thine  own  opportunities. — Armostes, 
We  must  consult  with  the  philosophers  ; 
The  business  is  of  weight. 


SCENE  ill.]       THE  BROKEN  HEART.  235 

Arm.  Sir,  at  your  pleasure. 

Amy.  You  told  me,  Crotolon,  your  son's  returned 
From  Athens :  wherefore  comes  he  not  to  court, 
As  we  commanded  ? 

Crot.  He  shall  soon  attend 

Your  royal  will,  great  sir. 

Amy.  The  marriage 

Between  young  Prophilus  and  Euphranea 
Tastes  of  too  much  delay. 

Crot.  My  lord,-  - 

Amy.  Some  pleasures 

At  celebration  of  it  would  give  life 
To  the  entertainment  of  the  prince  our  kinsman  ; 
Our  court  wears  gravity  more  than  we  relish. 

Arm.  Yet   the   heavens   smile   on  all  your   high  at 
tempts, 

Without  a  cloud. 
^^Crot^  So  may  the  gods  protect  us  ! 

Cal.  A  prince  a  sufijecf? 

Near.  Yes,  to  beauty's  sceptre ; 

As  all  hearts  kneel,  so  mine. 

Cal.  You  are-  too  courtly. 

Enter  ITHOCLES,  ORGILUS,  and  PROPHILUS. 

////.  Your  safe  return  to  Sparta  is  most  welcome  : 
I  joy  to  meet  you  here,  and,  as  occasion 
Shall  grant  us  privacy,  will  yield  you  reasons 
Why  I  should  covet  to  deserve  the  title 
Of  your  respected  friend  ;  for,  without  compliment, 
Believe  it,  Orgilus,  'tis  my  ambition. 

Org.    Your   lordship   may   command   me,  your   poor 
servant. 

////.    \_Aside~\    So    amorously   close!  —  so    soon!  —  my 
heart ! 

Pro.     What  sudden  change  is  next  ? 

////.  Life  to  the  king  ! 

To  whom  I  here  present  this  noble  gentleman, 


2j6  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  ill. 

New  come  from  Athens :  royal  sir,  vouchsafe 
Your  gracious  hand  in  favour  of  his  merit. 

[77ie  King  gives  ORGILUS  his  hand  to  kiss. 

Crot.  \Aside\  My  son  preferred  by  Ithocles  ! 

Amy.  Our  bounties 

Shall  open  to  thee,  Orgilus;  for  instance, — 
Hark  in  thine  ear, — if,  out  of  those  inventions 
Which  flow  in  Athens,  thou  hast  there  engrossed 
Some  rarity  of  wit,  to  grace  the  nuptials 
Of  thy  fair  sister,  and  renown  our  court 
In  the  eyes  of  this  young  prince,  we  shall  be  debtor 
To  thy  conceit:  think  on't. 

Org.  '  Your  highness  honours  me. 

Near,   My  tongue  and  heart  are  twins. 

Cal.  A  noble  birth, 

Becoming  such  a  father. — Worthy  Orgilus, 
You  are  a  guest  most  wished  for. 

Org.  May  my  duty 

Still  rise  in  your  opinion,  sacred  princess ! 

It/i.  Euphranea's  brother,  sir  ;  a  gentleman 
Well  worthy  of  your  knowledge. 

Near.  We  embrace  him, 

Proud  of  so  dear  acquaintance. 

Amy.  All  prepare 

For  rdvels  and  disport;  the  joys  of  Hymen, 
Like  Phoebus  in  his  lustre,  put  to  flight 
All  mists  of  dulness,  crown  the  hours  with  gladness  : 
No  sounds  but  music,  no  discourse  but  mirth  ! 

Cal.  Thine  arm,  I  prithee,  Ithocles. — Nay,  good 
My  lord,  keep  on  your  way ;  I  am  provided. 

Near.  I  dare  not  disobey, 

Ith.  Most  heavenly  lady  ! 

\_Excnnt. 


SCENE  IV.]        THE  BROKEN  HEAR2.  237 

SCENE  IV.— A  Room  in  the  House  of  CROTOLON. 

Enter  CROTOLON  and  ORGILUS. 

Crot.  The  king  hath  spoke  his  mind. 

Org.  His  will  he  hath  ; 

But  were  it  lawful  to  hold  plea  against 
The  power  of  greatness,  not  the  reason,  haply 
Such  undershrubs  as  subjects  sometimes  might 
Borrow  of  nature  justice,  to  inform 
That  license  sovereignty  holds  without  check 
Over  a  meek  obedience. 

Crot.  How  resolve  you 

Touching  your  sister's  marriage  ?     Prophilus 
Is  a  deserving  and  a  hopeful  youth. 

Org.  I  envy  not  his  merit,  but  applaud  it ; 
Could  wish  him  thrift  in  all  his  best  desires, 
And  with  a  willingness  inleague  our  blood 
With  his,  for  purchase  of  full  growth  in  friendship. 
He  never  touched  on  any  wrong  that  maliced 
The  honour  of  our  house  nor  stirred  our  peace  : 
Yet,  with  your  favour,  let  me  not  forget 
Under  whose  wing  he  gathers  warmth  and  comfort. 
Whose  creature  he  is  bound,  made,  and  must  live  so. 

Crot.  Son,  son,  I  find  in  thee  a  harsh  condition ; ' 
No  courtesy  can  win  it,  'tis  too  rancorous. 

Org.  Good  sir,  be  not  severe  in  your  construction  ; 
I  am  no  stranger  to  such  easy  calms 
As  sit  in  tender  bosoms :  lordly  Ithocles 
Hath  graced  my  entertainment  in  abundance  ; 
Too  humbly  hath  descended  from  that  height 
Of  arrogance  and  spleen  which  wrought  the  rape 
On  grieved  Penthea's  purity ;  his  scorn 
Of  my  untoward  fortunes  is  reclaimed 
Unto  a  courtship,  almost  to  a  fawning  : — 
I'll  kiss  his  foot,  since  you  will  have  it  so. 

Crot.  Since  I  will  have  it  so  !  friend,  I  will  have  it  so, 
1  i.e.  Disposition. 


238  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  in. 

Without  our  ruin  by  your  politic  plots, 
Or  wolf  of  hatred  snarling  in  your  breast. 
You  have  a  spirit,  sir,  have  ye  ?  a  familiar 
That  posts  i'  the  air  for  your  intelligence  ? 
Some  such  hobgoblin  hurried  you  from  Athens, 
For  yet  you  come  unsent  for. 

Org.  If  unwelcome, 

I  might  have  found  a  grave  there. 

Crot.  Sure,  your  business 

Was  soon  dispatched,  or  your  mind  altered  quickly. 

Org.  'Twas  care,  sir,  of  my  health  cut  short  my  journey ; 
For  there  a  general  infection 
Threatens  a  desolation. 

Crot.  And  I  fear 

Thou  hast  brought  back  a  worse  infection  with  thee, — 
Infection  of  thy  mind  ;  which,  as  thou  say'st, 
Threatens  the  desolation  of  our  family. 

Org.  Forbid  it,  our  dear  genius  !  I  will  rather 
Be  made  a  sacrifice  on  Thrasus'  monument, 
Or  kneel  to  Ithocles  his  son  in  dust, 
Than  woo  a  father's  curse.     My  sister's  marriage 
With  Prophilus  is  from  my  heart  confirmed  ; 
May  I  live  hated,  may  I  die  despised, 
If  I  omit  to  further  it  in  all 
That  can  concern  me  ! 

Crot.  I  have  been  too  rough. 

My  duty  to  my  king  made  me  so  earnest ; 
Excuse  it,  Orgilus. 

Org.  Dear  sir! — 

Crot.  Here  comes 

Euphranea,  with  Prophilus  and  Ithocles. 

Enter  PROPHILUS,  EUPHRANEA,   ITHOCLES,   GRONEAS 
and  HEMOPHIL. 

Org.  Most  honoured  ! — ever  famous ! 
////.  Your  true  friend  j 

On  earth  not  any  truer. — With  smooth  eyes 


SCENE  iv.]        THE  BROKEN  HEART.  239 

Look  on  this  worthy  couple  ;  your  consent 
Can  only  make  them  one. 

Org.  They  have  it. — Sister, 

Thou  pawnedst  to  me  an  oath,  of  which  engagement 
I  never  will  release  thee,  if  thoti  aim'st 
At  any  other  choice  than  this. 

Euph.  Dear  brother, 

At  him,  or  none. 

Crot.  To  which  my  blessing's  added. 

Org.  Which,  till  a  greater  ceremony  perfect, — 
Euphranea,  lend  thy  hand, — here,  take  her,  Prophilus  : 
Live  long  a  happy  man  and  wife  ;  and  further, 
That  these  in  presence  may  conclude  an  omen. 
Thus  for  a  bridal  song  I  close  my  wishes  : 

(Sings)  Comforts  lasting,  loves  increasing, 
Like  soft  hours  never  ceasing  : 
Plenty's  pleasure,  peace  complying, 
Without  jars,  or  tongues  envying  ; 
Hearts  by  holy  union  wedded, 
More  than  theirs  by  custom  bedded  ; 
Fruitful  issues  ;  life  so  graced, 
Not  by  age  to  be  defaced, 
Budding,  as  the  year  ensu'th, 
Every  spring  another  youth  : 
All  what  thought  can  add  beside 
Crown  this  bridegroom  and  this  bride ! 

Pro.  You  have  sealed  joy  close  to  my  soul. — Euphranea 
Now  I  may  call  thee  mine. 

Ith.  I  but  exchange 

)ne  good  friend  for  another. 

Org.  If  these  gallants 

Will  please  to  grace  a  poor  invention 
By  joining  with  me  in  some  slight  device, 
I'll  venture  on  a  strain  my  younger  days 
Have  studied  for  delight. 

Hem.  With  thankful  willingness 

I  offer  my  attendance. 


240  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  in. 

Gro.  No  endeavour 

Of  mine  shall  fail  to  show  itself. 

Ith.  We  will 

All  join  to  wait  on  thy  directions,  Orgilus. 

Org.  O,  my  good  lord,  your  favours  flow  towards 
A  too  unworthy  worm ; — -but  as  you  please  ; 
I  am  what  you  will  shape  me. 

Ith.  &j  A  fast  friend. 

Crot.  I  thi\ik  thee,  son,  for  this  acknowledgment ; 
It  is  a  sight  of  gladness. 

Org.  But  my  duty.  {Exeunt. 


SCENE  V. — CALANTHA'S  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  CALANTHA,  PENTHEA,  CHRISTALLA,  and 
PHILEMA. 

Cal.  Whoe'er  would  speak  with  us,  deny  his  entrance ; 
Be  careful  of  our  charge. 

Chris.  We  shall,  madam. 

Cal.  Except  the  king  himself,  give  none  admittance ; 
Not  any. 

Phil.  Madam,  it  shall  be  our  care. 

{Exeunt  CHRISTALLA  and  PHILEMA. 

Cal.  Being  alone,  Penthea,  you  have  granted 
The  opportunity  you  sought,  and  might 
At  all  times  have  commanded. 

Pen.  'Tis  a  benefit 

Which  I  shall  owe  your  goodness  even  in  death  for : 
My  glass  of  life,  sweet  princess,  hath  few  minutes 
Remaining  to  run  down  ;  the  sands  are  spent ; 
For  by  an  inward  messenger  I  feel 
The  summons  of  departure  short  and  certain. 

Cal.  You  feel  too  much  your  melancholy. 

Pen.  Glories 

Of  human  greatness  are  but  pleasing  dreams 


SCENE  v.]          THE  BROKEN  HEART.  24t 

'And  shadows  soon  decaying:  on  the  stage 
Of  my  mortality  my  youth  hath  acted 
|  Some  scenes  of  vanity,  drawn  out  at  length 
By  varied  pleasures,  sweetened  in  the  mixture, 
But  tragical  in  issue  :  beauty,  pomp, 
With  every  sensuality  our  giddiness 
Doth  frame  an  idol,  are  unconstant  friends, 
When  any  troubled  passion  makes  assault 
On  the  unguarded  castle  of  the  mind. 

Cal.  Contemn  not  your  condition  for  the  proof 
Of  bare  opinion  only  :  to  what  end 
Reach  all  these  moral  texts  ? 

Pen.  To  place  before  ye 

A  perfect  mirror,  wherein  you  may  see 
How  weary  I  am  of  a  lingering  life, 
Who  count  the  best  a  misery. 

Cal.  Indeed 

You  have  no  little  cause  ;  yet  none  so  great 
As  to  distrust  a  remedy. 

Pen.  That  remedy 

Must  be  a  winding-sheet,  a  fold  of  lead, 
And  some  untrod-on  corner  in  the  earth. — 
Not  to  detain  your  expectation,  princess, 
I  have  an  humble  suit. 

Cal.  Speak  ;  I  enjoy  it. 

Pen.  Vouchsafe,  then,  to  be  my  executrix, 
And  take  that  trouble  on  ye  to  dispose 
Such  legacies  as  I  bequeath  impartially ; 
I  have  not  much  to  give,  the  pains  are  easy ; 
Heaven  will  reward  your  piety,  and  thank  it 
When  I  am  dead;  for  sure  I  must  not  live ; 
I  hope  I  cannot. 

Cal.  Now,  beshrew  thy  sadness, 

Thou  turn'st  me  too  much  woman.  [  Weeps. 

Pen.  \Aside\  Her  fair  eyes 

Melt  into  passion. — Then  I  have  assurance 
Encouraging  my  boldness.      In  this  paper 

Ford,  u 


242  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  in. 

My  will  was  charactered ;  which  you,  with  pardon, 
Shall  now  know  from  mine  own  mouth. 

Cal.  Talk  on,  prithee ; 

It  is  a  pretty  earnest. 

Pen.  I  have  left  me 

But  three  poor  jewels  to  bequeath.  The  first  is 
My  youth  ;  for  though  I  am  much  old  in  griefs, 
In  years  I  am  a  child. 

Cal.  To  whom  that  jewel? 

Pen.  To  virgin-wives,  such  as  abuse  not  wedlock 
By  freedom  of  desires,  but  covet  chiefly 
The  pledges  of  chaste  beds  for  ties  of  love, 
Rather  than  ranging  of  their  blood ;  and  next 
To  married  maids,  such  as  prefer  the  number 
Of  honourable  issue  in  their  virtues 
Before  the  flattery  of  delights  by  marriage : 
May  those  be  ever  young  ! 

Cal.  A  second  jewel 

You  mean  to  part  with  ? 

Pen.  'Tis  my  fame,  I  trust 

By  scandal  yet  untouched  :  this  I  bequeath 
To  Memory,  and  Time's  old  daughter,  Truth. 
If  ever  my  unhappy  name  find  mention 
When  I  am  fall'n  to  dust,  may  it  deserve 
Beseeming  charity  without  dishonour  ! 

Cal.  How    handsomely   thou   play'st    with    harmless 

sport 

Of  mere  imagination  !  speak  the  last. 
I  strangely  like  thy  will. 

Pen.  This  jewel,  madam. 

Is  dearly  precious  to  me ;  you  must  use 
The  best  of  your  discretion  to  employ 
This  gift  as  I  intend  it. 

Cal.  Do  not  doubt  me. 

Pen.  'Tis  long  agone  since  first  I  lost  my  heart : 
Long  I  have  lived  without  it,  else  for  certain 
I  should  have  given  that  too  ;  but  instead 


SCENE  v.]          THE  BROKEN  HEART.  243 

Of  it,  to  great  Calantha,  Sparta's  heir, 
By  service  bound  and  by  affection  vowed, 
I  do  bequeath,  in  holiest  rites  of  love, 
Mine  only  brother,  Ithocles. 

CaL  What  saidst  thou  ? 

Pen.  Impute  not,  heaven-blest  lady,  to  ambition 
A  faith  as  humbly  perfect  as  the  prayers 
Of  a  devoted  suppliant  can  endow  it : 
Look  on  him,  princess,  with  an  eye  of  pity ; 
How  like  the  ghost  of  what  he  late  appeared 
He  moves  before  you. 

CaL  Shall  I  answer  here, 

Or  lend  my  ear  too  grossly  ? 
-   Pen.  First  his  heart 

Shall  fall  in  cinders,  scorched  by  your  disdain, 
Ere  he  will  dare,  poor  man,  to  ope  an  eye 
On  these  divine  looks,  but  with  low-bent  thoughts 
Accusing  such  presumption  ;  as  for  words, 
He  dares  not  utter  any  but  of  service  : 
Yet  this  lost  creature  loves  ye. — Be  a  princess 
In  sweetness  as  in  blood  ;  give  him  his  doom, 
Or  raise  him  up  to  comfort. 

Cal.  What  new  change 

Appears  in  my  behaviour,  that  thou  dar'st 
Tempt  my  displeasure  ? 

Pen.  I  must  leave  the  world 

To  revel  in  Elysium,  and  'tis  just 
To  wish  my  brother  some  advantage  here  ; 
Yet,  by  my  best  hopes,  Ithocles  is  ignorant 
Of  this  pursuit :  but  if  you  please  to  kill  him, 
Lend  him  one  angry  look  or  one  harsh  word, 
And  you  shall  soon  conclude  how  strong  a  power 
Your  absolute  authority  holds  over 
His  life  and  end. 

.  6V?/.  You  have  forgot,  Penthca, 

How  still  I  have  a  father. 

Pen*  But  remember 


244 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


[ACT  III. 


I  am  a  sister,  though  to  me  this  brother 

Hath  been,  you  know,  unkind,  O,  most  unkind  ! 

Cal.  Christalla,  Philema,  where  are  ye  ? — Lady, 
Your  check  lies  in  my  silence. 

Re-enter  CHRISTALLA  and  PHILEMA. 

Chris,  and  Phil.  Madam,  here. 

Cal.  I  think  ye  sleep,  ye  drones  :  wait  on  Penthea 
Unto  her  lodging. — \^Asidc\  Ithocles  ?  wronged  lady  ! 
Pen.  My  reckonings  are  made  even ;  death  or  fate 
Can  now  nor  strike  too  soon  nor  force  too  late. 

\Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 


SCENE  I.— The  Palace.     ITHOCLES'  Apartment. 
Enter  ITHOCLES  and  ARMOSTES. 

TH.  Forbear  your  inquisition:  curiosity 
Is  of  too   subtle   and   too   searching 

nature, 
In  fears  of  love  too  quick,  too  slow  ot 

credit. — 
I  am  not  what  you  doubt  me. 

Ann.  Nephew,  be,  then, 

As  I  would  wish  ; — all  is.  not  right. — Good  heaven 
Confirm  your  resolutions  for  dependence 
On  worthy  ends,  which  may  advance  your  quiet ! 

Ith.  I  did  the  noble  Orgilus  much  injury, 
But  grieved  Penthea  more :  I  now  repent  it,— 
Now,  uncle,  now  ;  this  "  now  "  is  now  too  late. 
So  provident  is  folly  in  sad  issue, 
That  after-wit,  like  bankrupts'  debts,  stands  tallied, 
Without  all  possibilities  of  payment. 
Sure,  he's  an  honest,  very  honest  gentleman  ; 
A  man  of  single  l  meaning. 

Ann.  I  believe  it : 

Yet,  nephew,  'tis  the  tongue  informs  our  ears ; 
Our  eyes  can  never  pierce  into  the  thoughts, 
For  they  are  lodged  too  inward  : — but  I  question 
No  truth  in  Orgilus. — The  princess,  sir. 
1th.  The  princess  !  ha! 
Arm.  With  her  £he  Prince  of  Argos. 


246  THE  BROKEN  HEAR1.  [ACT  iv. 

Enter  NEARCHUS,  leading  CALANTHA  ;  AMELUS, 
CHRISTALLA,  PHILEMA. 

Near.  Great   fair    one,    grace    my   hopes    with-   any 

instance 

Of  livery,1  from  the  allowance  of  your  favour  ; 
This  little  spark — [Attempts  to  take  a  ring  from  her  finger. 

Cal.  '    A  toy! 

Near.  Love  feasts  on  toys, 

For  Cupid  is  a  child  ; — vouchsafe  this  bounty  : 
It  cannot  be  denied. 

Cal.  You  shall  not  value, 

Sweet  cousin,  at  a  price,  what  I  count  cheap ; 
So  cheap,  that  let  him  take  it  who  dares  stoop  for't, 
And  give  it  at  next  meeting  to  a  mistress  : 
She'll  thank  him  for't,  perhaps. 

[  Casts  the  ring  before  ITHOCLES,  who  takes  it  up. 

Ame.  The  ring,  sir,  is 

The  princess's ;  I  could  have  took  it  up. 

////.  Learn  manners,  prithee.— To  the  blessed  owner, 
Upon  my  knees —        \Kneels  and  offers  it  to  CALANTHA. 

Near.  You're  saucy. 

Cal.  This  is  pretty  ! 

I  am,  belike,  "  a  mistress  " — wondrous  pretty! — 
Let  the  man  keep  his  fortune,  since  he  found  it ; 
He's  worthy  on't. — On,  cousin  ! 

{Exeunt  NEARCHUS,  CALANTHA,  CHRISTALLA, 
and  PHILEMA. 

Ith.  \to  AMELUS]  Follow,  spaniel ; 

I'll  force  ye  to  a  fawning  else. 

Ame.  You  dare  not.         [Exit. 

Arm.  My  lord,  you  were  too  forward. 

////.  Look  ye,  uncle, 

Some  such  there  are  whose  liberal  contents 
Swarm  without  care  in  every  sort  of  plenty ; 

1  This  was  the  language  of  courtship,  and  was  derived  from  the 
practice  of  distinguishing  the  followers  and  retainers  of  great 
families  by  the  badge  or  crest  of  the  house. — Gifford. 


SCENE  I.]          THE  BROKEN  HEART.  247 

Who  after  full  repasts  can  lay  them  down 

To  sleep  ;  and  they  sleep,  uncle  :  in  which  silence 

Their  very  dreams  present  'em  choice  of  pleasures, 

Pleasures — observe  me,  uncle — of  rare  object ;    / 

Here  heaps  of  gold,  there  increments  of  honours, 

Now  change  of  garments,  then  the  votes  of  people ; 

Anon  varieties  of  beauties,  courting, 

In  flatteries  of  the  night,  exchange  of  dalliance  : 

Yet  these  are  still  but  dreams.     Give  me  felicity 

Of  which  my  senses  waking  are  partakers, 

A  real,  visible,  material  happiness  ; 

And  then,  too,  when  I  stagger  in  expectance 

Of  the  least  comfort  that  can  cherish  life. — 

I  saw  it,  sir,  I  saw  it ;  for  it  came 

From  her  own  hand. 

Arm.  The  princess  threw  it  t'ye. 

////.  True ;  and  she  said — well  I  remember  what — 
Her  cousin  prince  would  beg  it. 

Arm.  Yes,  and  parted 

In  anger  at  your  taking  on't. 

////.  Panthea, 

O,  thou  hast  pleaded  with  a  powerful  language  ! 
I  want  a  fee  to  gratify  thy  merit ; 
But  I  will  do— 

Arm.  What  is't  you  say  ? 

////.  In  anger ! 

In  anger  let  him  part ;  for  could  his  breath, 
Like  whirlwinds,  toss  such  servile  slaves  as  lick 
The  dust  his  footsteps  print  into  a  vapour, 
It  durst  not  stir  a  hair  of  mine,  it  should  not ; 
I'd  rend  it  up  by  the  roots  first.     To  be  anything 
Calantha  smiles  on,  is  to  be  a  blessing 
More  sacred  than  a  petty  prince  of  Argos 
Can  wish  to  equal  or  in  worth  or  title. 

Arm.  Contain  yourself,  my  lord :  Ixion,  aiming 
To  embrace  Juno,  bosomed  but  a  cloud, 
And  begat  Centaurs;  'tis  an  useful  moral  : 


248  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  iv. 

Ambition  hatched  in  clouds  of  mere  opinion 
Proves  but  in  birth  a  prodigy. 

////.  I  thank  ye  ; 

Yet,  with  your  license,  I  should  seem  uncharitable 
To  gentler  fate,  if,  relishing  the  dainties 
Of  a  soul's  settled  peace,  I  were  so  feeble 
Not  to  digest  it. 

\4.rm.  He  deserves  small  trust 

Who  is  not  privy-counsellor  to  himself. 

Re-enter  NEARCHUS  and  AMELUS,  with  ORGILUS. 

Near.  Brave  me  ? 

Org.  Your  excellence  mistakes  his  temper  ; 

For  Ithocles  in  fashion  of  his  mind 
Is  beautiful,  soft,  gentle,  the  clear  mirror 
Of  absolute  perfection. 

Ante.  Was't  your  modesty 

Termed  any  of  the  prince's  servants  "  spaniel "  ? 
Your  nurse,  sure,  taught  you  other  language. 

Ith.  Language  ! 

Near.  A  gallant  man-at-arms  is  here,  a  doctor 
In  feats  of  chivalry,  blunt  and  rough-spoken, 
Vouchsafing  not  the  fustian  of  civility, 
Which  less  rash  spirits  style  good  manners. 

////.  Manners ! 

Org.  ;No  more,  illustrious  sir;  'tis  matchless  Ithocles. 

Near.  You  might  have  understood  who  I  am. 

Ith.  Yes, 

I  did ;  else — but  the  presence  calmed  the  affront — 
You're  cousin  to  the  princess. 

Near.  To  the  king  too  ; 

A  certain  instrument  that  lent  supportance 
To  you  colossic  greatness — to  that  king  too, 
You  might  have  added. 

////.  There  is  more  divinity 

In  beauty  than  in  majesty. 

Arm.  O  fie,  fie  ! 


SCENE  I.]  THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


249 


Near.  This  odd  youth's  pride  turns  heretic  in  loyalty. 
Sirrah  !  low  mushrooms  never  rival  cedars. 

[Exeunt  NEARCHUS  and  AMELUS. 

It/i.  Come  back  !— What  pitiful  dull  thing  am  I 
So  to  be  tamely  scolded  at !  come  back  ! — 
Let  him  come  back,  and  echo  once  again 
That  scornful  sound  of, mushroom  !  painted  colts — 
Like  heralds'  coats  gilt  o'er  with  crowns  and  sceptres  — 
May  bait  a  muzzled  lion. 

Ann.  Cousin,  cousin, 

Thy  tongue  is  not  thy  friend. 

Org.  In  point  of  honour 

Discretion  knows  no  bounds.     Amelus  told  me 
'Twas  all  about  a  little  ring. 

Ith.  A  ring 

The  princess  threw  away,  and  I  took  up  : 
Admit  she  threw't  to  me,  what  arm  of  brass 
Can  snatch  it  hence  ?     No  ;  could  he  grind  the  hoop 
To  powder,  he  might  sooner  reach  my  heart 
Than  steal  and  wear  one  dust  on't. — Orgilus, 
I  am  extremely  wronged. 

Org.  A  lady's  favour 

Is  not  to  be  so  slighted. 

Ith.  Slighted ! 

Arm.  Quiet 

These  vain  unruly  passions,  which  will  render  ye 
Into  a  madness. 

Org.  Griefs  will  have  their  vent. 

Enter  TECNICUS  with  a  scroll. 

Arm.  Welcome  ;  thou  com'st  in  season,  reverend  man, 
To  pour  the  balsam  of  a  suppling  patience 
Into  the  festering  wound  of  ill-spent  fury. 

Org.   [Aside]  What  makes  he  here  ? 

Tec.  The  hurts  are  yet  but  mortal, 

Which  shortly  will  prove  deadly.     To  the  king, 
Armostes,  see  in  safety  thou  deliver 


250  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  iv. 

This  sealed-up  counsel ;  bid  him  with  a  constancy 
Peruse  the  secrets  of  the  gods. — O  Sparta, 

0  Lacedsemon  !  double-named,  but  one 

In  fate  :  when  kingdoms  reel, — mark  well  my  saw, — 
Their  heads  must  needs  be  giddy.     Tell  the  king 
That  henceforth  he  no  more  must  inquire  after 
My  aged  head  ;  Apollo  wills  it  so  : 

1  am  for  Delphos. 

Arm.  Not  without  some  conference 

With  our  great  master  ? 

Tec.  Never  more  to  see  him  : 

A  greater  prince  commands  me. — Ithocles, 

"  When  youth  is  ripe,  and  age  from  time  doth  part, 
The  lifeless  trunk  shall  wed  the  broken  heart." 

Ith.  What's  this,  if  understood  ? 

Tec.  List,  Orgilus  ; 

Remember  what  I  told  thee  long  before, 
These  tears  shall  be  my  witness. 

Arm.  'Las,  good  man  ! 

Tec.  "  Let  craft  with  courtesy  a  while  confer, 
Revenge  proves  its  own  executioner." 

Org.  Dark  sentences  are  for  Apollo's  priests  ; 
I  am  not  (Edipus. 

Tec.  My  hour  is  come  ; 

Cheer  up  the  king  ;  farewell  to  all. — O  Sparta, 
O  Lacedaemon  !  [Exit. 

Arm.  If  prophetic  fire 

Have  warmed  this  old  man's  bosom,  we  might  construe 
His  words  to  fatal  sense. 

Ith.  Leave  to  the  powers 

Above  us  the  effects  of  their  decrees  ; 
My  burthen  lies  within  me  :  servile  fears 
Prevent  no  great  effects — Divine  Calantha  ! 

Arm.  The  gods  be  still  propitious  ! 

^Exeunt  ITHOCLES  and  ARMOSTES. 

Org.  Something  oddly 

The  book-man  prated,  yet  he  talked  it  weeping  ; 


SCENE  II.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  251 

"  Let  craft  with  courtesy  a  while  confer, 
Revenge  proves  its  own  executioner." 
Con  it  again  ; — for  what  ?     It  shall  not  puzzle  me  ; 
'Tis  dotage  of  a  withered  brain. — Penthea 
Forbade  me  not  her  presence  ;  I  may  see  her, 
And  gaze  my  fill.     Why  see  her,  then,  I  may, 
When,  if  I  faint  to  speak — I  must  be  silent.  {Exit. 


SCENE  \\.~A  Room  in  BASSANES'  House. 
Enter  BASSANES,  GRAUSIS,  and  PHULAS. 

Bass.  Pray,  use  your  recreations,  all  the  service 
I  will  expect  is  quietness  amongst  ye  ; 
Take  liberty  at  home,  abroad,  at  all  times, 
And  in  your  charities  appease  the  gods, 
Whom  I,  with  my  distractions,  have  offended. 

Grau.  Fair  blessings  on  thy  heart ! 

Phu.   \Aside\  Here's  a  rare  change  ! 

My  lord,  to  cure  the  itch,  is  surely  gelded ; 
The  cuckold  in  conceit  hath  cast  his  horns. 

Bass.  Betake  ye  to  your  several  occasions  ; 
And  wherein  I  have  heretofore  been  faulty, 
Let  your  constructions  mildly  pass  it  over ; 
Henceforth  I'll  study  reformation, — more 
I  have  not  for  employment. 

Grau.  O,  sweet  man  ! 

Thou  art  the  very  "  Honeycomb  of  Honesty." 

Phu.  The  "Garland  of  Good-will. "i— Old  lady,  hold  up 
Thy  reverend  snout,  and  trot  behind  me  softly, 
As  it  becomes  a  moil2  of  ancient  carriage. 

{Exeunt  GRAUSIS  and  PHULAS. 

Bass.  Beasts,  only  capable  of  sense,  enjoy 

1  The  Honeycomb  of  Honesty,  like  the  Garland  of  Goodwill,  was 
probably  one  of  the  popular  miscellanies  of  the  day. — Gifford. 

2  i.e.  Mule. 


252  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  iv. 

The  benefit  of  food  and  ease  with  thankfulness  ;' 

Such  silly  creatures,  with  a  grudging,  kick  not 

Against  the  portion  nature  hath  bestowed  : 

But  men,  endowed  with  reason  and  the  use 

Of  reason,  to  distinguish  from  the  chaff 

Of  abject  scarcity  the  quintessence, 

Soul,  and  elixir  of  the  earth's  abundance, 

The  treasures  of  the  sea,  the  air,  nay,  heaven, 

Repining  at  these  glories  of  creation 

Are  verier  beasts  than  beasts  ;  and  of  those  beasts 

The  worst  am  I  :  I,  who  was  made  a  monarch 

Of  what  a  heart  could  wish  for, — a  chaste  wife, — 

Endeavoured  what  in  me  lay  to  pull  down 

That  temple  built  for  adoration  only, 

And  level't  in  the  dust  of  causeless  scandal. 

But,  to  redeem  a  sacrilege  so  impious, 

Humility  shall  pour,  before  the  deities 

I  have  incensed,  a  largess  of  more  patience 

Than  their  displeased  altars  can  require  : 

No  tempests  of  commotion  shall  disquiet 

The  calms  of  my  composure. 

Enter  ORGILUS. 

Org.  I  have  found  thee, 

Thou  patron  of  more  horrors  than  the  bulk 
Of  manhood,  hooped  about  with  ribs  of  iron, 
Can  cram  within  thy  breast :  Penthea,  Bassanes, 
Cursed  by  thy  jealousies, — more,  by  thy  dotage, — 
Is  left  a  prey  to  words. 

JBass.  Exercise 

Your  trials  for  addition  to  my  penance ; 
I  am  resolved. 

Org.  Play  not  with  misery 

Past  cure  :  some  angry  minister  of  fate  hath 
Deposed  the  empress  of  her  soul,  her  reason, 
From  its  most  proper  throne  ;  but,  what's  the  miracle 
More  new,  I,  I  have  seen  it,  and  yet  live  ! 


gCENE  II.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  253 

Bass.  You  may  delude  my  senses,  not  my  judgment ; 
'Tis  anchored  into  a  firm  resolution  ; 
Dalliance  of  mirth  or  wit  qan  ne'er  unfix  it : 
.Practise  l  yet  further. 

Org.  May  thy  death  of  love  to  her 

Damn  all  thy  comforts  to  a  lasting  fast 
From  every  joy  of  life  !     Thou  barren  rock, 
By  thee  we  have  been  split  in  ken  of  harbour. 

>  Enter  PENTHEA  with  her  hair  loose,  ITHOCLES,  ARMOSTES, 
PHILEMA,  and  CHRISTALLA. 

Ith.  Sister,  look  up  ;  your  Ithocles,  your  brother, 
Speaks  t'ye;  why  do  you  weep?  dear,  turn  not  from  me. — 
Here  is  a  killing  sight ;  lo,  Bassanes, 
A  lamentable  object ! 

Org.  Man,  does  see't  ? 

Sports  are  more  gamesome ;  am  I  yet  in  merriment  ? 
Why  dost  not  laugh  ? 

Bass.  Divine  and  best  of  ladies, 

Please  to  forget  my  outrage ;  mercy  ever 
Cannot  but  lodge  under  a  roof  so  excellent : 
I  have  cast  off  tha;t  cruelty  of  frenzy 
Which  once  appeared  imposture,  and  then  juggled 
To  cheat  my  sleeps  of  rest. 

Org.  Was  I  in  earnest  ? 

Pen.  Sure,  if  we  were  all  Sirens,  we  should  sing  pitifully, 
And  'twere  a  comely  music,  when  in  parts 
One  sung  another's  knell :  the  turtle  sighs 
When  he  hath  lost  his  mate  ;  and  yet  some  say 
He  must  be  dead  first :  'tis  a  fine  deceit 
To  pass  away  in  a  dream  !  indeed,  I've  slept 
With  mine  eyes  open  a  great  while.     No  falsehood 
Equals  a  broken  faith  ;  there's  not  a  hair 
Sticks  on  my  head  but,  like  a  leaden  plummet, 
It  sinks  me  to  the  grave  :  I  must  creep  thither ; 
The  journey  is  not  long. 

1   /.(-.  Practise  on  my  patience. 


254  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  iv. 

Ith.  But  thou,  Penthea, 

Hast  many  years,  I  hope,  to  number  yet, 
Ere  thou  canst  travel  that  way. 

Bass.  Let  the  sun  first 

Be  wrapped  up  in  an  everlasting  darkness, 
Before  the  light  of  nature,  chiefly  formed 
For  the  whole  world's  delight,  feel  an  eclipse 
So  universal ! 

Org.  Wisdom,  look  ye,  begins 

To  rave  ! — art  thou  mad  too,  antiquity? 

Pen.  Since  I  was  first  a  wife,  I  might  have  been 
Mother  to  many  pretty  prattling  babes  ; 
They  would  have  smiled  when  I  smiled,  and  for  certain 
I  should  have  cried  when  they  cried  : — truly,  brother, 
My  father  would  have  picked  me  out  a  husband, 
And  then  my  little  ones  had  been  no  bastards  • 
But  'tis  too  late  for  me  to  marry  now, 
I  am  past  child-bearing  ;  'tis  not  my  fault. 

Bass.  Fall  on  me,  if  there  be  a  burning  ^Etna, 
And  bury  me  in  flames  !  sweats  hot  as  sulphur 
Boil  through  my  pores  !  affliction  hath  in  store 
No  torture  like  to  this. 

Org.  Behold  a  patience  ! 

Lay-by  thy  whining  gray  dissimulation,1 
Do  something  worth  a  chronicle ;  show  justice 
Upon  the  author  of  this  mischief ;  dig  out 
The  jealousies  that  hatched  this  thraldom  first 
With  thine  own  poniard :  every  antic  rapture 
Can  roar  as  thine  does. 

Ith.  Orgilus,  forbear. 

Bass.  Disturb  him  not ;  it  is  a  talking  motion  ~ 
Provided  for  my  torment.     What  a  fool  am  I 

1  Gifford  remarks  that  this  beautiful  expression  is  happily  adopted 
by  Milton,  the  great  plunderer  of  the  poetical  hive  of  our  old 
dramatists ; 

"  He  ended  here  ;  and  Satan,  bowing  low 
His  gray  dissimulation,"  &c.     Par.  Reg. 
-  Puppet. 


SCENE  ii.]          THE  BROKEN  HEART.  255 

To  bandy  passion  !  ere  I'll  speak  a  word, 
I  will  look  on  and  burst. 

Pen.  I  loved  you  once.     [To  ORGILUS. 

Org.  Thou   didst,  wronged   creature  :    in   despite   of 

malice,  % 

For  it  I  love  thee  ever. 

Pen.  Spare  your  hand ; 

Believe  me,  I'll  not  hurt  it. 

Org.  My  heart  too. 

Pen.  Complain  not  though  I  wring  it  hard  :  I'll  kiss  it ; 
O,  'tis  a  fine  soft  palm  ! — hark,  in  thine  ear  ; 
Like  whom  do  I  look,  prithee  ? — nay,  no  whispering. 
Goodness !  we  had  been  happy ;  too  much  happiness 
Will  make  folk  proud,  they  say — but  that  is  he — 

[Pointing  to  ITHOGLES. 
And  yet  he  paid  for't  home ;  alas,  his  heart 
Is  crept  into  the  cabinet  of  the  princess  ; 
We  shall  have  points1  and  bride-laces.     Remember, 
When  we  last  gathered  roses  in  the  garden, 
I  found  my  wits ;  but  truly  you  lost  yours. 
That's  he,  and  still  'tis  he. 

[Again  pointing  to  ITHOCLES. 

Ith.  Poor  soul,  how  idly 

Her  fancies  guide  her  tongue  ! 

Bass.  [Aside]  Keep  in,  vexation, 

And  break  not  into  clamour. 

Org.  [Aside]  She  has  tutored  me, 

Some  powerful  inspiration  checks  my  laziness. — 
Now  let  me  kiss  your  hand,  grieved  beauty. 

Pen.  Kiss  it. — 

Alack,  alack,  his  lips  be  wondrous  cold  ; 
Dear  soul,  'has  lost  his  colour  :  have  ye  seen 
A  straying  heart  ?  all  crannies  !  every  drop 
Of  blood  is  turned  to  an  amethyst, 
Which  married  bachelors  hang  in  their  ears. 

Org.  Peace  usher  her  into  Elysium  ! — 

1  Tagged  laces. 


256  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  IV. 

If  this  be  madness,  madness  is  an  oracle. 

\Aside,  and  exit. 

Ith.  Christalla,  Philema,  when  slept  my  sister, 
Her  ravings  are  so  wild? 

Chris.       ,  Sir,  not  these  ten  days. 

Phil.  We  watch  by  her  continually  ;  besides, 
We  can  not  any  way  pray  her  to  eat. 

Bass.  O,  misery  of  miseries  ! 

Pen.  Take  comfort ; 

You  may  live  well,  and  die  a  good  old  man  : 
By  yea  and  nay,  an  oath  not  to  be  broken, 
If  you  had  joined  our  hands  once  in  the  temple, — 
'Twas  since  my  father  died,  for  had  he  lived 
He  would  have  done't, — I  must  have  called  you  father. — 
O,  my  wrecked  honour !  ruined  by  those  tyrants, 
A  cruel  brother  and  a  desperate  dotage. 
There  is  no  peace  left  for  a  ravished  wife 
Widowed  by  lawless  marriage  ;  to  all  memory 
Penthea's,  poor  Penthea's  name  is  strumpeted  : 
But  since  her  blood  was  seasoned  by  the  forfeit 
Of  noble  shame  with  mixtures  of  pollution, 
Her  blood — 'tis  just — be  henceforth  never  heightened 
WTith  taste  of  sustenance  !  starve  ;  let  that  fulness 
Whose  plurisy  hath  fevered  faith  and  modesty — 
Forgive  me ;  O,  I  faint ! 

[Falls  into  the  arms  of  her  Attendants. 
Arm.  Be  not  so  wilful, 

Sweet  niece,  to  work  thine  own  destruction. 

////.  Nature 

Will  call  her  daughter  monster ! — What !  not  eat  ? 
Refuse  the  only  ordinary  means 
Which  are  ordained  for  life  ?     Be  not,  my  sister, 
A  murderess  to  thyself. — Hear'st  thou  this,  Bassanes  ? 

Bass.  Foh  !  I  am  busy ;  for  I  have  not  thoughts 
Enow  to  think  :  all  shall  be  well  anor. 
'Tis  tumbling  in  my  head ;  there  is  a  mastery 
In  art  to  fatten  and  keep  smooth  the  outside, 


SCENE  II.]          THE  BROKEN  HEART.  257 

Yes,  and  to  comfort-up  the  vital  spirits 
Without  the  help  of  food,  fumes  or  perfumes, 
Perfumes  or  fumes.     Let  her  alone ;  I'll  search  out 
The  trick  on't 

Pen.  Lead  me  gently ;  heavens  reward  ye. 

Griefs  are  sure  friends ;  they  leave  without  control 
Nor  cure  nor  comforts  for  a  leprous  soul. 

[£xif,  supported  by  CHRISTALLA  and  PHILEMA. 

Bass.  I  grant  ye ;  and  will  put  in  practice  instantly 
What  you  shall  still  admire  :  'tis  wonderful, 
'Tis  super- singular,  not  to  be  matched ; 
'Yet,  when  I've  done't,  I've  done't : — ye  shall  all  thank 
me.  \Exit. 

Arm.  The  sight  is  full  of  terror. 

////.  On  my  soul 

Lies  such  an  infinite  clog  of  massy  dulness, 
As  that  I  have  not  sense  enough  to  feel  it. — 
See,  uncle,  the  angry  thing  returns  again  ; 
Shall's  welcome  him  with  thunder  ?  we  are  haunted, 
And  must  use  exorcism  to  conjure  down 
This  spirit  of  malevolence. 

Arm.  Mildly,  nephew. 

Enter  NEARCHUS  and  AMELUS. 

Near.  I  come  not,  sir,  to  chide  your  late  disorder, 
Admitting  that  the  inurement  to  a  roughness 
In  soldiers  of  your  years  and  fortunes,  chiefly 
So  lately  prosperous,  hath  not  yet  shook  off 
The  custom  of  the  war  in  hours  of  leisure ; 
Nor  shall  you  need  excuse,  since  you're  to  render 
Account  to  that  fair  excellence,  the  princess, 
Who  in  her  private  gallery  expects  it 
From  your  own  mouth  alone  :  I  am  a  messenger 
But  to  her  pleasure. 

Ith.  Excellent  Nearchus, 

Be  prince  still  of  my  services,  and  conquer 
Without  the  combat  of  dispute  ;  I  honour  ye. 

Ford.  S 


25 8  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  IV. 

Near.  The  king  is  on  a  sudden  indisposed, 
Physicians  are  called  for;  'twere  fit,  Armostes, 
You  should  be  near  him. 

Arm.  Sir,  I  kiss  your  hands. 

\Exeunt  ITHOCLES  and  ARMOSTES. 

Near.  Amelus,  I  perceive  Calantha's  bosom 
Is  warmed  with  other  fires  than  such  as  can 
Take  strength  from  any  fuel  of  the  love 
I  might  address  to  her :  young  Ithocles, 
Or  ever  I  mistake,  is  lord  ascendant 
Of  her  devotions ;  one,  to  speak  him  truly, 
In  every  disposition  nobly  fashioned. 

Ame.  But  can  your  highness  brook  to  be  so  rivalled, 
Considering  the  inequality  of  the  persons  ? 

Near.  I  can,  Amelus ;  for  affections  injured 
By  tyranny  or  rigour  of  compulsion, 
Like  tempest-threatened  trees  unfirmly  rooted, 
Ne'er  spring  to  timely  growth  :  observe,  for  instance, 
Life-spent  Penthea  and  unhappy  Orgilus. 

Ame.  How  does  your  grace  determine  ? 

Near.  To  be  jealous 

In  public  of  what  privately  I'll  further ; 
And  though  they  shall  not  know,  yet  they  shall  find  it. 

\Exciint. 


SCENE  III. — An  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  AMYCLAS,  led  by  HEMOPHIL  and  GRONEAS, 

by  ARMOSTES  with  a  box,  CROTOLON,  and  PROPHILUS. 
AMYCLAS  is  placed  in  a  chair. 

Amy.  Our  daughter  is  not  near? 
Arm.  She  is  retired,  sir, 

Into  her  gallery. 

Amy.  Where's  the  prince  our  cousin  ? 

Pro.  New  walked  into  the  grove,  my  lord. 


SCKXE  in.]       THE  BROKEN  HEART.  259 

Amy.  All  leave  us 

Except  Armostes,  and  you,  Crotolon ; 
We  would  be  private. 

Pro,  Health  unto  your  majesty  ! 

[Exeunt  PROPHILUS,  HEMOPHIL,  and  GRONEAS. 
Amy.  What !  Tecnicus  is  gone  ? 
Arm.  He  is  to  Delphos ; 

And  to  your  royal  hands  presents  this  box. 

Amy.  Unseal  it,  good  Armostes  ;  therein  lie 
The  secrets  of  the  oracle  ;  out  with  it : 

[ARMOSTES  takes  out  the  scroll. 
Apollo  live  our  patron  !     Read,  Armostes. 

Arm.  \Reads\  "  The  plot  in  which  the  vine  takes  root 
Begins  to  dry  from  head  to  foot ; 
The  stock,  soon  withering,  want  of  sap 
Doth  cause  to  quail  the  budding  grape ; 
But  from  the  neighbouring  elm  a  dew 
Shall  drop,  and  feed  the  plot  anew." 

Amy.  That  is  the  oracle  :  what  exposition 
Makes  the  philosopher  ? 

Arm.  This  brief  one  only. 

\Rcads\  "  The  plot  is  Sparta,  the  dried  vine  the  king ; 
The  quailing  grape  his  daughter ;  but  the  thing 
( )f  most  importance,  not  to  be  revealed, 
Is  a  near  prince,  the  elm :  the  rest  concealed. 

TECNICUS." 

Amy.  Enough  ;  although  the  opening  of  this  riddle 
15e  but  itself  a  riddle,  yet  we  construe 
How  near  our  labouring  age  draws  to  a  rest : 
But  must  Calantha  email  too  ?  that  young  grape 
t'ntimely  budded  !     I  could  mourn  for  her ; 
Her  tenderness  hath  yet  deserved  no  rigour 
So  to  be  crossed  by  fate. 

Ann.  You  misapply,  sir, — 

With  favour  let  me  speak  it, — what  Apollo 
Hath  clouded  in  hid  sense :   I  here  conjecture 


260  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  iv. 

Her  marriage  with  some  neighbouring  prince,  the  dew 
Of  which  befriending  elm  shall  ever  strengthen 
Your  subjects  with  a  sovereignty  of  power. 

Crot.  Besides,  most  gracious  lord,  the  pith  of  oracles 
Is  to  be  then  digested  when  the  events 
Expound  their  truth,  not  brought  as  soon  to  light 
As  uttered  ;  Truth  is  child  of  Time  :  and  herein 
I  find  no  scruple,  rather  cause  of  comfort, 
With  unity  of  kingdoms. 

Amy.  May  it  prove  so, 

For  weal  of  this  dear  nation  ! — Where  is  Ithocles  ? — 
Armostes,  Crotolon,  when  this  withered  vine 
Of  my  frail  carcass,  on  the  funeral  pile 
Is  fired  into  its  ashes,  let  that  young  man 
Be  hedged  about  still  with  your  cares  and  loves  : 
Much  owe  I  to  his  worth,  much  to  his  service. — 
Let  such  as  wait  come  in  now. 

Arm.  All  attend  here  ! 

Enter  CALANTHA,  ITHOCLES,  PROPHILUS,  ORGILUS, 
EUPHRANEA,  HEMOPHIL,  «;/^/GRONEAS. 

Cal.  Dear  sir  !  king  !  father ! 

Ith.  O,  my  royal  master  ! 

Amy.  Cleave  not  my  heart,  sweet  twins  of  my  life's 

solace, 

With  your  forejudging  fears  ;  there  is  no  physic 
So  cunningly  restorative  to  cherish 
The  fall  of  age,  or  call  back  youth  and  vigour, 
As  your  consents  in  duty :  I  will  shake  off 
This  languishing  disease  of  time,  to  quicken 
Fresh  pleasures  in  these  drooping  hours  of  sadness. 
Is  fair  Euphranea  married  yet  to  Prophilus  ? 

Crot.  This  morning,  gracious  lord. 

Org.  This  very  morning  ; 

Which,   with   your   highness'   leave,    you   may   observe 

too. 
Our  sister  looks,  methinks,  mirthful  and  sprightly, 


SCENE  III.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  261 

As  if  her  chaster  fancy  could  already 
Expound  the  riddle  of  her  gain  in  losing 
A  trifle  maids  know  only  that  they  know  not. 
Pish  !  prithee,  blush  not ;  'tis  but  honest  change 
Of  fashion  in  the  garment,  loose  for  strait, 
And  so  the  modest  maid  is  made  a  wife  : 
Shrewd  business — is't  not,  sister  ? 

Euph.  You  are  pleasant. 

Amy.  We   thank  thee,    Orgilus ;  this   mirth  becomes 

thee. 

But  wherefore  sits  the  court  in  such  a  silence  ? 
A  wedding  without  revels  is  not  seemly. 

Cal.  Your  late  indisposition,  sir,  forbade  it. 

Amy.  Be  it  thy  charge,  Calantha,  to  set  forward 
The  bridal  sports,  to  which  I  will  be  present ; 
If  not,  at  least  consenting. — Mine  own  Ithocles, 
I  have  done  little  for  thee  yet. 

////.  You've  built  me 

To  the  full  height  I  stand  in. 

Cal.  \Aside\  Now  or  never  ! — 

May  I  propose  a  suit  ? 

Amy.  Demand,  and  have  it. 

Cal.  Pray,  sir,  give  me  this  young  man,  and  no  further 
Account  him  yours  than  he  deserves  in  all  things 
To  be  thought  worthy  mine  :  I  will  esteem  him 
According  to  his  merit. 

Amy.  Still  thou'rt  my  daughter, 

Still  grow'st  upon  my  heart. — [To  ITHOCLES]  Give  me 

thine  hand  ; — 

Calantha,  take  thine  own  :  in  noble  actions 
Thou'lt  find  him  firm  and  absolute. — I  would  not 
Have  parted  with  thee,  Ithocles,  to  any 
But  to  a  mistress  who  is  all  what  I  am. 

Jth.  A  change,  great  king,  most  wished  for,  'cause  the 
same. 

Cal.  [Aside  to  ITHOCLES]  Thou'rt  mine.    Have  I  now 
kept  my  word  ? 


262  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  iv. 

Ith.  [Aside  to  CALANTHA]  Divinely. 

Org.  Rich  fortunes  guard,  the  favour  of  a  princess 
Rock  thee,  brave  man,  in  ever-crowned  plenty  ! 
You're  minion  of  the  time  ;  be  thankful  for  it. — 
\_Aside\   Ho  !  here's  a  swing  in  destiny — apparent ! 
The  youth  is  up  on  tiptoe,  yet  may  stumble. 

Amy.  On  to  your  recreations. — Now  convey  me 
Unto  my  bed-chamber  :  none  on  his  forehead 
Wear  a  distempered  look. 

All.  The  gods  preserve  ye ! 

Cal.  \_Aside  to   ITHOCLES]    Sweet,   be    not  from   my 
sight. 

fth.  [Aside  to  CALANTHA]  My  whole  felicity! 

[AMYCLUS  is  carried  o^tt.     Exeunt  all  but 

ITHOCLES,  who  is  detained  by  ORGILI  s. 

Org.  Shall  I  be  bold,  my  lord  ? 

////.  Thou  canst  not,  Orgilus. 

Call  me  thine  own ;  for  Prophilus  must  henceforth 
Be  all  thy  sister's  :  friendship,  though  it  cease  not 
In  marriage,  yet  is  oft  at  less  command 
Than  when  a  single  freedom  can  dispose  it. 

Org.  Most  right,  my  most  good  lord,  my  most  great 

lord, 
My  gracious  princely  lord,  I  might  add,  royal. 

////.  Royal !  a  subject  royal? 

Org.  Why  not,  pray,  sir  ? 

The  sovereignty  of  kingdoms  in  their  nonage 
Stooped  to  desert,  not  birth ;  there's  as  much  merit 
In  clearness  of  affection  as  in  puddle 
Of  generation :  you  have  conquered  love 
Even  in  the  loveliest ;  if  I  greatly  err  not, 
The  son  of  Venus  hath  bequeathed  his  quiver 
To  Ithocles  his  manage,  by  whose  arrows 
Calantha's  breast  is  opened. 

Ith.  Can't  be  possible  ? 

Org.  I  was  myself  a  piece  of  suitor  once, 
And  forward  in  preferment  too  ;  so  forward, 


SCENE  in.]        THE  BROKEN  HEART.  263 

That,  speaking  truth,  I  may  without  offence,  sir, 
Presume  to  whisper  that  my  hopes,  and — hark  ye — 
My  certainty  of  marriage  stood  assured     . 
With  as  firm  footing — by  your  leave — as  any's 
Now  at  this  very  instant — but — 

Ith.  Tis  granted : 

And  for  a  league  of  privacy  between  us, 
Read  o'er  my  bosom  and  partake  a  secret ; 
The  princess  is  contracted  mine. 

Org.  Still,  why  not  ? 

I  now  applaud  her  wisdom :  when  your  kingdom 
Stands  seated  in  your  will  secure  and  settled, 
I  dare  pronounce  you  will  be  a  just  monarch; 
Greece  must  admire  and  tremble. 

Ith.  Then  the  sweetness 

Of  so  imparadised  a  comfort,  Orgilus  ! 
It  is  to  banquet  with  the  gods. 

Org.  The  glory 

Of  numerous  children,  potency  of  nobles, 
Bent  knees,  hearts  paved  to  tread  on  ! 

Ith.  With  a  friendship 

So  dear,  so  fast  as  thine. 

Org.  I  am  unfitting 

For  office  ;  but  for  service — 

////.  We'll  distinguish 

Our  fortunes  merely  in  the  title ;  partners 
In  all  respects  else  but  the  bed. 

Org.  '  The  bed  ! 

Forfend  it  Jove's  own  jealousy  !— till  lastly 
We  slip  down  in  the  common  earth  together; 
And  there  our  beds  are  equal ;  save  some  monument 
To  show  this  was  the  king,  and  this  the  subject. — 

\_Soft  sad  music. 
List,  what  sad  sounds  are  these, — extremely  sad  ones? 

////.  Sure,  from  Penthea's  lodgings. 

Org.  Hark  !  a  voice  too. 


264  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  iv. 

SONG  within. 
O,  no  more,  no  more,  too  late 

Sighs  are  spent ;  the  burning  tapers 
Of  a  life  as  chaste  as  fate, 

Pure  as  are  unwritten  papers, 
Are  burnt  out :  no  heat,  no  light 
Now  remains  ;  'tis  ever  night. 

Love  is  dead  ;  let  lovers'  eyes, 

Locked  in  endless  dreams, 

Th'  extremes  of  all  extremes, 
Ope  no  more,  for  now  Love  dies, 

Now  Love  dies, — implying 

Love's  martyrs  must  be  ever,  ever  dying. 

////.  O,  my  misgiving  heart ! 

Org.  A  horrid  stillness 

Succeeds  this  deathful  air  ;  let's  know  the  reason  : 
Tread  softly ;  there  is  mystery  in  mourning.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.— PENTHEA'S  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 

PENTHEA  discovered  in  a  chair,  veiled;  CHRISTALLA  and 
PHILEMA  at  her  feet  mourning.  Enter  two  Servants 
with  two  other  chairs,  one  with  an  engine.1 

Enter  ITHOCLES  and  ORGILUS. 
\st  Ser.  [Aside  to  ORGILUS]     Tis  done  ;  that  on  her 

right  hand. 
Org.  Good  :  begone. 

[Exettnt  Servants. 
Ith.  Soft  peace  enrich  this  room  ! 
Org.  How  fares  the  lady? 

1  This  "  engine,"  as  it  is  heie  called,  in  correspondence  with  the 
homely  properties  of  our  old  theatres,  was  merely  a  couple  of 
movable  arms  added  to  the  common  chair.  The  contrivance  itself 
is  of  early  date,  and,  if  Pausanias  (Attica,  c.  20)  is  to  be  trusted,  of 


SCENE  IV.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  265 

Phil.  Dead! 

Chris.          Dead  ! 

Phil.  Starved ! 

Chris.  Starved  ! 

////.  Me  miserable ! 

Org.  Tell  us 

How  parted  she  from  life. 

Phil.  She  called  for  music, 

And  begged  some  gentle  voice  to  tune  a  farewell 
To  life  and  griefs  :  Christalla  touched  the  lute ; 
I  wept  the  funeral  song. 

Chris.  Which  scarce  was  ended 

But  her  last  breath  sealed-up  these  hollow  sounds, 
"  O,  cruel  Ithocles  and  injured  Orgilus !  " 
So  down  she  drew  her  veil,  so  died. 

1th.  So  died ! 

Org.  Up  !  you  are  messengers  of  death  ;  go  from  us  ; 
[CHRISTALLA  and  PHILEMA  rise. 
Here's  woe  enough  to  court  without  a  prompter  ; 
Away  ;  and — hark  ye — till  you  see  us  next, 
No  syllable  that  she  is  dead.  —  Away, 
Keep  a  smooth  brow. 

{Exeunt  CHRISTALLA  and  PHILEMA. 
My  lord, — 

////.  Mine  only  sister ! 

Another  is  not  left  me. 

Org.  Take  that  chair ; 

I'll  seat  me  here  in  this  :  between  us  sits 
The  object  of  our  sorrows  ;  some  few  tears 

celestial  origin.  Vulcan,  he  tells  us,  in  order  to  be  revenged  of 
Juno  for  turning  him  out  of  heaven,  insidiously  presented  her  with 
a  golden  throne  with  hidden  springs,  which  prevented  her,  after 
being  seated  upon  it,  from  rising  up  again.  Ford,  however,  brought 
no  golden  chair  from  Olympus  :  he  found  his  simple  contrivance 
not  only  on  the  stage,  but  (where  his  predecessors  probably  found 
it)  in  Bandello,  Nov.  i.  Parte  iv.  vol.  ix.  p.  13,  ed.  Milano,  1814, 
whe:e  it  is  described  at  length,  and  Deodati  is  entrapped  by  il 
Turclii,  precisely  as  Ithocles  is  here  by  Orgilus,  and  then  stabbed 
with  a  dagger. — Gijford. 


266  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  iv. 

We'll  part  among  us :  I  perhaps  can  mix 
One  lamentable  story  to  prepare  'em. — 
There,  there  ;  sit  there,  my  lord. 

////.  Yes,  as  you  please. 

\Sits  down,  the  chair  closes  upon  him, 
What  means  this  treachery  ? 

Org.  Caught !  you  are  caught, 

Young  master  ;  'tis  thy  throne  of  coronation, 
Thou  fool  of  greatness  !     See,  I  take  this  veil  off; 
Survey  a  beauty  withered  by  the  flames 
Of  an  insulting  Phaeton,  her  brother. 

Ith.  Thou  mean'st  to  kill  me  basely  ? 

Org.  I  foreknew 

The  last  act  of  her  life,  and  trained  thee  hither 
To  sacrifice  a  tyrant  to  a  turtle. 
You  dreamt  of  kingdoms,  did  ye  ?  how  to  bosom 
The  delicacies  of  a  youngling  princess  ; 
How  with  this  nod  to  grace  that  subtle  courtier, 
How  with  that  frown  to  make  this  noble  tremble, 
And  so  forth  ;  whiles  Penthea's  groans  and  tortures, 
Her  agonies,  her  miseries,  afflictions, 
Ne'er  touched  upon  your  thought :  as  for  my  injuries, 
Alas,  they  were  beneath  your  royal  pity ; 
But  yet  they  lived,  thou  proud  man,  to  confound  thee. 
Behold  thy  fate  ;  this  steel !  {Draws  a  dagger. 

Ith.  Strike  home  !     A  courage 

As  keen  as  thy  revenge  shall  give  it  welcome : 
But  prithee  faint  not ;  if  the  wound  close  up, 
Tent :  it  with  double  force,  and  search  it  deeply. 
Thou  look'st  that  I  should  whine  and  beg  compassion, 
As  loth  to  leave  the  vainness  of  my  glories ; 
A  statelier  resolution  arms  my  confidence, 
To  cozen  thee  of  honour  ;  neither  could  I 
With  equal  trial  of  unequal  fortune 
By  hazard  of  a  duel ;  'twere  a  bravery 
Too  mighty  for  a  slave  intending  murder. 
1  Probe. 


SCENE  IV.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  267 

On  to  the  execution,  and  inherit 
A  conflict  with  thy  horrors. 

Org.  By  Apollo, 

Thou  talk'st  a  goodly  language  !  for  requital 
I  will  report  thee  to  thy  mistress  richly  : 
And  take  this  peace  along  ;  some  few  short  minutes 
Determined,  my  resolves  shall  quickly  follow 
Thy  wrathful  ghost ;  then,  if  we  tug  for  mastery, 
Penthea's  sacred  eyes  shall  lend  new  courage. 
Give  me  thy  hand  :  be  healthful  in  thy  parting 
From  lost  mortality  !  thus,  thus  I  free  it.      [Stabs  him. 

Ith.  Yet,  yet,  I  scorn  to  shrink. 

Org.  Keep  up  thy  spirit : 

I  will  be  gentle  even  in  blood ;  to  linger 
Pain,  which  I  strive  to  cure,  were  to  be  cruel. 

[Stabs  him  again. 

Ith.  Nimble  in  vengeance,  I  forgive  thee.     Follow 
Safety,  with  best  success  :  O,  may  it  prosper ! — 
Penthea,  by  thy  side  thy  brother  bleeds  ; 
The  earnest  of  his  wrongs  to  thy  forced  faith. 
Thoughts  of  ambition,  or  delicious  banquet 
With  beauty,  youth,  and  love,  together  perish 
In  my  last  breath,  which  on  the  sacred  altar 
Of  a  long-looked-for  peace — now — moves — to  heaven. 

[Dies. 

Org.  Farewell,   fair   spring    of  manhood !    henceforth 

welcome 

Best  expectation  of  a  noble  sufferance. 
I'll  lock  the  bodies  safe,  till  what  must  follow 
Shall  be  approved. — Sweet  twins,  shine  stars  for  ever  ! — 

In  vain  they  build  their  hopes  whose  life  is  shame  : 

No  monument  lasts  but  a  happy  name. 

[Locks  the  door,  and  exit. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

SCENE  I.—  A  Room  in  BASSANES'  House. 

Enter  BASSANES. 

ASS.  Athens — to    Athens    I   have   sent, 

the  nursery 
Of  Greece  for  learning  and  the  fount  of 

knowledge ; 
For    here   in     Sparta    there's   not    left 

amongst  us 

One   wise    man    to    direct ;    we're    all 
turned  madcaps. 

'Tis  said  Apollo  is  the  god  of  herbs, 
Then  certainly  he  knows  the  virtue  of  'em : 
To  Delphos  I  have  sent  too.     If  there  can  be 
A  help  for  nature,  we  are  sure  yet. 

Enter  ORGILUS. 

Org.  Honour 

Attend  thy  counsels  ever  ! 

Bass.  I  beseech  thee 

With  all  my  heart,  let  me  go  from  thee  quietly ; 
I  will  not  aught  to  do  with  thee,  of  all  men. 
The  doubles  of  a  hare, — or,  in  a  morning, 
Salutes  from  a  splay-footed  witch, — to  drop 
Three  drops  of  blood  at  th'  nose  just  and  no  more, — 
Croaking  of  ravens,  or  the  screech  of  owls, 
Are  not  so  boding  mischief  as  thy  crossing 


SCENE  I.]  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  269 

My  private  meditations  :  shun  me,  prithee ; 
And  if  I  cannot  love  thee  heartily, 
I'll  love  thee  as  well  as  I  can. 

Org.  Noble  Bassanes, 

Mistake  me  not. 

Hass.  Phew !  then  we  shall  be  troubled. 

Thou    wert    ordained    my    plague — heaven    make    me 

thankful, 
And  give  me  patience  too,  heaven,  I  beseech  thee. 

Org.  Accept  a  league  of  amity ;  for  henceforth, 
I  vow,  by  my  best  genius,  in  a  syllable, 
Never  to  speak  vexation  :  I  will  study 
Service  and  friendship,  with  a  zealous  sorrow 
For  my  past  incivility  towards  ye. 

Bass.  Hey-day,   good   words,   good   words !    I    must 

believe  'em, 
And  be  a  coxcomb  for  my  labour. 

Org.  Use  not 

So  hard  a  language  ;  your  misdoubt  is  causeless : 
For  instance,  if  you  promise  to  put  on 
A  constancy  of  patience,  such  a  patience 
As  chronicle  or  history  ne'er  mentioned, 
As  follows  not  example,  but  shall  stand 
A  wonder  and  a  theme  for  imitation, 
The  first,  the  index  l  pointing  to  a  second, 
I  will  acquaint  ye  with  an  unmatched  secret, 
Whose  knowledge  to  your  griefs  shall  set  a  period. 

Bass.  Thou  canst  not,  Orgilus  ;  'tis  in  the  power 
Of  the  gods  only  :  yet,  for  satisfaction, 
Because  I  note  an  earnest  in  thine  utterance, 
Unforced  and  naturally  free,  be  resolute  2 
The  virgin-bays  shall  not  withstand  the  lightning 
With  a  more  careless  danger  than  my  constancy 
The  full  of  thy  relation  ;  could  it  move 
Distraction  in  a  senseless  marble  statue, 

1  i.e.  The  index-hand  common  on  the  margin  of  old  books. 

2  Satisfied. 


270  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  v. 

It  should  find  me  a  rock  :  I  do  expect  now 
Some  truth  of  unheard  moment. 

Org.  To  your  patience 

You  must  add  privacy,  as  strong  in  silence 
As  mysteries  locked-up  in  Jove's  own  bosom. 

Bass.  A  skull  hid  in  the  earth  a  treble  age 
Shall  sooner  prate. 

Org.  Lastly,  to  such  direction 

As  the  severity  of  a  glorious  action 
Deserves  to  lead  your  wisdom  and  your  judgment, 
You  ought  to  yield  obedience. 

Bass.  With  assurance 

Of  will  and  thankfulness. 

Org.  With  manly  courage 

Please,  then,  to  follow  me. 

Bass.  Where'er,  I  fear  not.   [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.1—  A  State-room  in  the  Palace. 

A  flourish.  Enter  EUPHRANEA,  led  by  GRONEAS  and 
HEMOPHIL  ;  PROPHILUS,  led  by  CHRISTALLA  and 
PHILEMA  ;  NEARCHUS  supporting  CALANTHA  ;  CRO- 
.and  AMELUS. 


Cat.  We  miss  our  servant  Ithocles  and  Orgilus  ; 
On  whom  attend  they? 

Crot.  My  son,  gracious  princess, 

Whispered  some  new  device,  to  which  these  revels 
Should  be  but  usher  :  wherein  I  conceive 
Lord  Ithocles  and  he  himself  are  actors. 

Cal.  A  fair  excuse  for  absence  :  as  for  Bassanes, 
Delights  to  him  are  troublesome  :  Armostes 
Is  with  the  king  ? 

Crot.  He  is. 

1  Hazlitt  pointed  out  that  this  scene  was  suggested  by  the  mask- 
scene  in  Marston's  Malcontent. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  271 

Cat.  On  to  the  dance ! — 

Dear   cousin,    hand    you    the    bride ;    the   bridegroom 

must  be 

Intrusted  to  my  courtship.     Be  not  jealous, 
Euphranea  ;  I  shall  scarcely  prove  a  temptress. — 
Fall  to  our  dance. 

THE  REVELS. 

Music.  NEARCHUS  dances  with  EUPHRANEA,  PROPHILUS 
with  CALANTHA,  CHRISTALLA  with  HEMOPHIL,  PHI- 
LEMA  with  GRONEAS. 

They  dance  the  first  change ;  during  which  ARMOSTES  enters. 

Arm.  [  Whispers  CALANTHA]    The  king  your  father's 

dead. 

Cal.  To  the  other  change. 
Arm.  Is't  possible  ? 

They  dance  the  second  change. 

Enter  BASSANES. 

Bass.  [  Whispers  CALANTHA]  O,  madam  ! 

Penthea,  poor  Penthea's  starved. 

Cal.  Beshrew  thee  ! — 

Lead  to  the  next. 

Bass.  Amazement  dulls  my  senses. 

They  dance  the  third  change. 

Enter  ORGILUS. 

Grg.   [  Whispers  CALANTHA]    Brave  Ithocles  is  mur 
dered,  murdered  cruelly. 
Cal.   How  dull  this  music  sounds !     Strike  up  more 

sprightly ; 

Our  footings  are  not  active  like  our  heart, 
Which  treads  the  nimbler  measure. 

Org.  I  am  thunderstruck. 

The  last  change. 


272  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  v. 

Cal.  So  !  let  us  breathe  awhile.  [Music  ceases.] — 

.  Hath  not  this  motion 
Raised  fresher  colour  on  our  cheeks  ? 

Near.  Sweet  princess, 

A  perfect  purity  of  blood  enamels 
The  beauty  of  your  white. 

Cal.  We  all  look  cheerfully  : 

And,  cousin,  'tis  methinks  a  rare  presumption 
In  any  who  prefer  our  lawful  pleasures 
Before  their  own  sour  censure,  t'  interrupt 
The  custom  of  this  ceremony  bluntly. 

Near.  None  dares,  lady. 

Cal.  Yes,  yes ;  some  hollow  voice  delivered  to  me 
How  that  the  king  was  dead. 

Arm.  The  king  is  dead  : 

That  fatal  news  was  mine;  for  in  mine  arms 
He  breathed  his  last,  and  with  his  crown  bequeathed 

ye 
Your  mother's  wedding-ring  ;  which  here  I  tender. 

Crot.  Most  strange  ! 

Cal.  Peace  crown  his  ashes  !     We  are  queen,  then. 

Near.  Long  live  Calantha  !    Sparta's  sovereign  queen  ! 

All.  Long  live  the  queen  ! 

Cal.  What  whispered  Bassanes  ? 

Bass.  That  my  Penthea,  miserable  soul, 
Was  starved  to  death. 

Cal.  She's  happy ;  she  hath  finished 

A  long  and  painful  progress. — A  third  murmur 
Pierced  mine  unwilling  ears. 

Org.  That  Ithocles 

Was  murdered  ; — rather  butchered,  had  not  bravery 
Of  an  undaunted  spirit,  conquering  terror,   , 
Proclaimed  his  last  act  triumph  over  ruin. 

Arm.  How  !  murdered  ! 

Cal.  By  whose  hand  ? 

Org.  By  mine ;  this  weapon 

Was  instrument  to  my  revenge  :  the  reasons 


SCENE  11.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  273 

Are  just,  and  known  ;  quit  him  of  these,  and  then 
Never  lived  gentleman  of  greater  merit, 
Hope  or  abiliment  to  steer  a  kingdom. 
Crot.  Fie,  Orgilus ! 
Euph.  Fie,  brother  ! 

Cal.  You  have  done  it  ? 

Bass.  How  it  was  done  let  him  report,  the  forfeit 
Of  whose  allegiance  to  our  laws  doth  covet 
Rigour  of  justice;  but  that  done  it  is 
Mine  eyes  have  been  an  evidence  of  credit 
Too  sure  to  be  convinced.1     Armostes,  rend  not 
Thine  arteries  with  hearing  the  bare  circumstances 
Of  these  calamities ;  thou'st  lost  a  nephew, 
A  niece,  and  I  a  wife  :  continue  man  still ; 
Make  me  the  pattern  of  digesting  evils, 
..Who  can  outlive  my  mighty  ones,  not  shrinking 
At  such  a  pressure  as  would  sink  a  soul 
Into  what's  most  of  death,  the  worst  of  horrors. 
But  I  have  sealed  a  covenant  with  sadness, 
And  entered  into  bonds  without  condition, 
To  stand  these  tempests  calmly ;  mark  me,  nobles, 
I  do  not  shed  a  tear,  not  for  Penthea  ! 
Excellent  misery  ! 

Cal.  We  begin  our  reign 

With  a  first  act  of  justice  :  thy  confession, 
Unhappy  Orgilus,  dooms  thee  a  sentence  ; 
But  yet  thy  father's  or  thy  sister's  presence 
Shall  be  excused. — Give,  Crotolon,  a  blessing 
To  thy  lost  son  ; — Euphranea,  take  a  farewell ; — 
And  both  be  gone. 

Crot.  [To  ORGILUS.]     Confirm  thee  noble  sorrow 
In  worthy  resolution ! 

Euph.  Could  my  tears  speak, 

My  griefs  were  slight. 

Org.  All  goodness  dwell  amongst  ye  ! 

1  i.e.  Confuted. 
Ford.  T 


274  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  v. 

Enjoy  my  sister,  Prophilus  :  my  vengeance 
Aimed  never  at  thy  prejudice. 

Cat.  Now  withdraw. 

[Exeunt  CROTOLON,  PROPHILUS,  and  EUPHRANEA. 
Bloody  relater  of  thy  stains  in  blood, 
For  that  thou  hast  reported  him,  whose  fortunes 
And  life  by  thee  are  both  at  once  snatched  from  him, 
With  honourable  mention,  make  thy  choice 
Of  what  death  likes  thee  best ;  there's  all  our  bounty. — 
But  to  excuse  delays,  let  me,  dear  cousin, 
Intreat  you  and  these  lords  see  execution 
Instant  before  ye  part. 

Near.  Your  will  commands  us 

Org.  One  suit,  just  queen,   my  last:  vouchsafe   your 

clemency, 

That  by  no  common  hand  I  be  divided 
From  this  my  humble  frailty. 

Cal.  To  their  wisdoms 

Who  are  to  be  spectators  of  thine  end 
I  make  the  reference  :  those  that  are  dead 
Are  dead  ;  had  they  not  now  died,  of  necessity 
They  must  have  paid  the  debt  they  owed  to  nature 
One  time  or  other. — Use  dispatch,  my  lords  ; 
We'll  suddenly  prepare  our  coronation. 

\Exeunt  CALANTHA,  PHILEMA,  and  CHRISTALLA. 

Arm.  'Tis  strange  these  tragedies  should  never  touch 

on 
Her  female  pity. 

Bass.  She  has  a  masculine  spirit ; 

And  wherefore  should  I  pule,  and,  like  a  girl, 
Put  finger  in  the  eye?  let's  be  all  toughness, 
Without  distinction  betwixt  sex  and  sex. 

Near.  Now,  Orgilus,  thy  choice? 

Org.  To  bleed  to  death. 

Arm.  The  executioner? 

Org.  Myself,  no  surgeon  ; 

I  am  well  skilled  in.  letting  blood.     Bind  fast 


SCENE  IT.]         THE  BROKEN  HEART.  275 

This  arm,  that  so  the  pipes  may  from  their  conduits 
Convey  a  full  stream  ; l  here's  a  skilful  instrument : 

[Shows  his  dagger 

Only  I  am  a  beggar  to  some  charity 
To  speed  me  in  this  execution 
By  lending  th'  other  prick  to  the  tother  arm, 
When  this  is  bubbling  life  out. 

Bass.  I  am  for  ye  ; 

It  most  concerns  my  art,  my  care,  my  credit. — 
Quick  fillet  both  his  arms. 

Org.  Grammercy,  friendship  ! 

Such  courtesies  are  real  which  flow  cheerfully 
Without  an  expectation  of  requital. 
Reach  me  a  staff  in  this  hand.       [They  give  him  a  staff.} 

—If  a  proneness 

Or  custom  in  my  nature  from  my  cradle 
Had  been  inclined  to  fierce  and  eager  bloodshed, 
A  coward  guilt,  hid  in  a  coward  quaking, 
Would  have  betrayed  me  to  ignoble  flight 
And  vagabond  pursuit  of  dreadful  safety : 
But  look  upon  my  steadiness,  and  scorn  not 
The  sickness  of  my  fortune,  which  since  Bassanes 
Was  husband  to  Penthea  had  lain  bed-rid. 
We  trifle  time  in  words : — thus  I  show  cunning 
In  opening  of  a  vein  too  full,  too  lively. 

[Pierces  the  vein  with  his  dagger. 

Ann.  Desperate  courage  I 

Near.  Honourable  infamy ! 

Hem.  I  tremble  at  the  sight. 

Gro.  Would  I  were  loose  ! 

Bass.  It  sparkles  like  a  lusty  wine  new  broached ; 
The  vessel  must  be  sound  from  which  it  issues. — 
Grasp  hard  this  other  stick — I'll  be  as  nimble — 
But  prithee,  look  not  pale — have  at  ye  !  stretch  out 

1  In  performing  the  operation  of  bleeding,  formerly  so  common, 
the  arm  was  bound  above  the  spot  selected  in  order  to  distend  the 
veins.  For  the  same  reason  the  patient  grasped  a  stall'. 


276  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  v. 

Thine  arm  with  vigour  and  with  nnshook  virtue. 

\Opens  the  vein. 

Good  !     O,  I  envy  not  a  rival,  fitted 
To  conquer  in  extremities  :  this  pastime 
Appears  majestical ;  some  high-tuned  poem 
Hereafter  shall  deliver  to  posterity 
The  writer's  glory  and  his  subject's  triumph. 
How  is't,  man  ? — droop  not  yet. 

Org.  I  feel  no  palsies. 

On  a  pair-royal  do  I  wait  in  death  ; 
My  sovereign,  as  his  liegeman;  on  my  mistress, 
As  a  devoted  servant ;  and  on  Ithocles, 
As  if  no  brave,  yet  no  unworthy  enemy  : 
Nor  did  I  use  an  engine  to  entrap 
His  life,  out  of  a  slavish  fear  to  combat 
Youth,  strength,  or  cunning ; 1  but  for  that  I  durst  not 
Engage  the  goodness  of  a  cause  on  fortune, 
By  which  his  name  might  have  outfaced  my  vengeance. 
O,  Tecnicus,  inspired  with  Phoebus'  fire  ! 
I  call  to  mind  thy  augury,  'twas  perfect ; 
"  Revenge  proves  its  own  executioner." 
When  feeble  man  is  bending  to  his  mother, 
The  dust  he  was  first  framed  on,  thus  he  totters. 

Hass.  Life's  fountain  is  dried  up. 

Org.  So  falls  the  standard 

Of  my  prerogative  in  being  a  creature  ! 
A  mist  hangs  o'er  mine  eyes,  the  sun's  bright  splendour 
Is  clouded  in  an  everlasting  shadow; 
Welcome,  thou  ice,  that  sitt'st  about  my  heart 
No  heat  can  ever  thaw  thee.  [Dies. 

Near.  Speech  hath  left  him. 

J?ass.  He  has  shook  hands  with  time ;  his  funeral  urn 
Shall  be  my  charge  :  remove  the  bloodless  body. 
The  coronation  must  require  attendance  ; 
That  past,  my  few  days  can  be  but  one  ?nourning. 

[Exeunt. 

i  Skill. 


SCENE  in.]        THE  BROKEN  HEAR'/.  27; 

SCENE  III.—  A  Temple. 

An  altar  covered  with  white;  two  lights  of  virgin  ivax  upon 
it.  Recorders  J  flay,  during  which  enter  Attendants 
bearing  ITHOCLES  on  a  hearse  (in  a  rich  robe,  with  a 
crown  on  his  head)  and  p lace  him  on  one  side  of  the 
altar.  Afterwards  enter  CALANTHA  in  white,  crowned, 
attended  by  EUPHRANEA,  PHILEMA,  and  CHRISTALLA, 
also  in  white;  NEARCHUS,  ARMOSTES,  CROTOLON, 
PROPHILUS,  AMELUS,  BASSANES,  HEMEPHIL,  and 
GRONEAS. 

CALANTHA  kneels  before  the  altar,  the  Ladies  kneeling 
behind  her,  the  rest  stand  off.  The  recorders  cease 
during  her  devotions.  Soft  music.  CALANTHA  and 
the  rest  rise,  doing  obeisance  to  the  altar. 

Cal.  Our  orisons  are  heard ;  the  gods  are  merciful. — 
Now  tell  me,  you  whose  loyalties  pay  tribute 
To  us  your  lawful  sovereign,  how  unskilful 
Your  duties  or  obedience  is  to  render 
Subjection  to  the  sceptre  of  a  virgin, 
Who  have  been  ever  fortunate  in  princes 
Of  masculine  and  stirring  composition. 
A  woman  has  enough  to  govern  wisely 
Her  own  demeanours,  passions,  and  divisions. 
A  nation  warlike  and  inured  to  practice 
Of  policy  and  labour  cannot  brook 
A  feminate  authority :  we  therefore 
Command  your  counsel,  how  you  may  advise  us 
In  choosing  of  a  husband,  whose  abilities 
Can  better  guide  this  kingdom. 

Near.  Royal  lady, 

Your  law  is  in  your  will. 

Arm.  We  have  seen  tokens 

Of  constancy  too  lately  to  mistrust  it. 

Crot.  Yet,  if  your  highness  settle  on  a  choice 
By  your  own  judgment  both  allowed  and  liked  of, 

1  A  kind  of  flutes  or  flageolets. 


278  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  v. 

Sparta  may  grow  in  power,  and  proceed 
To  an  increasing  height. 

Cal.  Hold  you  the  same  mind  ? 

Bass.  Alas,  great  mistress,  reason  is  so  clouded 
With  the  thick  darkness  of  my  infinite  woes, 
That  I  forecast  nor  dangers,  hopes,  or  safety. 
Give  me  some  corner  of  the  world  to  wear  out 
The  remnant  of  the  minutes  I  must  number, 
Where  I  may  hear  no  sounds  but  sad  complaints 
Of  virgins  who  have  lost  contracted  partners ; 
Of  husbands  howling  that  their  wives  were  ravished 
By  some  untimely  fate  ;  of  friends  divided 
By  churlish  opposition  ;  or  of  fathers 
Weeping  upon  their  children's  slaughter'd  carcases ; 
Or  daughters  groaning  o'er  their  fathers'  hearses  ; 
And  I  can  dwell  there,  and  with  these  keep  consort 
As  musical  as  theirs.     What  can  you  look  for 
From  an  old,  foolish,  peevish,  doting  man 
But  craziness  of  age  ? 

Cal.  Cousin  of  Argos, — 

Near.  Madam  ? 

Cal.  Were  I  presently 

To  choose  you  for  my  lord,  I'll  open  freely 
What  articles  I  would  propose  to  treat  on 
Before  our  marriage. 

Near.  Name  them,  virtuous  lady. 

Cal.  I  would  presume  you  would  retain  the  royalty 
Of  Sparta  in  her  own  bounds ;  then  in  Argos 
Armostes  might  be  viceroy;  in  Messene 
Might  Crotolon  bear  sway;  and  Bassanes — 

Bass.  I,  queen !  alas,  what  I  ? 

Cal.  Be  Sparta's  marshal : 

The  multitudes  of  high  employments  could  not 
But  set  a  peace  to  private  griefs.     These  gentlemen, 
Groneas  and  Hemophil,  with  worthy  pensions, 
Should  wait  upon  your  person  in  your  chamber. — 
I  would  bestow  Christalla  on  Amelus, 


SCENE  m.]        THE  BROKEN  HEART.  279 

She'll  prove  a  constant  wife ;  and  Philema 
Should  into  Vesta's  Temple. 

Bass.  This  is  a  testament ! 

It  sounds  not  like  conditions  on  a  marriage. 

Near.  All  this  should  be  performed. 

Cal.  Lastly,  for  Prophilus, 

He  should  be,  cousin,  solemnly  invested 
In  all  those  honours,  titles,  and  preferments 
Which  his  dear  friend  and  my  neglected  husband 
Too  short  a  time  enjoyed. 

Pro.  I  am  unworthy 

To  live  in  your  remembrance. 

Euph.  Excellent  lady! 

Near.  Madam,  what  means  that  word,  "neglected  hus 
band"? 

Cal.  Forgive  me : — now  I  turn  to  thee,  thou  shadow 
Of  my  contracted  lord  !  -  Bear  witness  all, 
I  put  my  mother's  wedding-ring  upon 
His  finger;  'twas  my  father's  last  bequest. 

{Places  a  ring  on  tJie  finger  of  ITHOCLES. 
Thus  I  new-many  him  whose  wife  I  am ; 
Death  shall  not  separate  us.     O,  my  lords, 
I  but  deceived  your  eyes  with  antic  gesture, 
When  one  news  straight  came  huddling  on  another 
Of  death  !  and  death  !  and  death  !  still  I  danced  forward  ; 
But  it  struck  home,  and  here,  and  in  an  instant. 
Be  such  mere  women,  who  with  shrieks  and  outcries 
Can  vow  a  present  end  to  all  their  sorrows, 
Yet  live  to  court  new  pleasures,  and  outlive  them  : 
They  are  the  silent  griefs  which  cut  the  heart-strings; 
Let  me  die  smiling. 

Near.  'Tis  a  truth  too  ominous. 

Cal.  One  kiss  on  these  cold  lips,  my  last!     \Kisses 

ITHOCLES.] — Crack,  crack ! — 
Argos  now's  Sparta's  king. — Command  the  voices 
Which  wait  at  the  altar  now  to  sing  the  song 
I  fitted  for  my  end. 


280  THE  BROKEN  HEART.  [ACT  v. 

Near.  Sirs,  the  song ! 

DIRGE. 
Chor.      Glories,  pleasures,  pomps,  delights,  and  ease, 

Can  but  please 

The  outward  senses,  when  the  mind 
Is  or  untroubled  or  by  peace  refined. 
ist.  Voice.  Crowns  may  flourish  and  decay, 

Beauties  shine,  but  fade  away. 
2nd  Voice.  Youth  may  revel,  yet  it  must 

Lie  down  in  a  bed  of  dust. 
yd  Voice.  Earthly  honours  flow  and  waste, 

Time  alone  doth  change  and  last. 
Chor.      Sorrows  mingled  with  contents  prepare 

Rest  far  care ; 

Love  only  reigns  in  death ;  though  art 
Can  find  no  comfort  for  a  broken  heart. 

[CALANTHA  dies. 
Arm.  Look  to  the  queen ! 

£ass.  Her  heart  is  broke  indeed. 

O,  royal  maid,  would  thou  hadst  missed  this  part ! 
Yet  'twas  a  brave  one.     I  must  weep  to  see 
Her  smile  in  death. 

Arm.  Wise  Tecnicus  !  thus  said  he ; 

"When  youth  is  ripe,  and  age  from  time  doth  part, 
The  Lifeless  Trunk  shall  wed  the  Broken  Heart." 
'Tis  here  fulfilled. 
Near.  I  am  your  king. 

All.  Long  live 

Nearchus,  King  of  Sparta ! 

Near.  Her  last  will 

Shall  never  be  digressed  from  :  wait  in  order 
Upon  these  faithful  lovers,  as  becomes  us. — 
The  counsels  of  the  gods  are  never  known 
Till  men  can  call  the  effects  of  them  their  own.   [Exeunt. 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


281 


WHERE  noble  judgments  and  clear  ^eyes  are  fixed 

To  grace  endeavour,  there  sits  truth,  not  mixed 

With  ignorance ;  those  censures  may  command 

Belief  which  talk  not  till  they  understand. 

Let  some  say,  "This  was  flat;  "  some,  "  Here  the  scene 

Fell  from  its  height ;  "  another,  "  That  the  mean 

Was  ill  observed  in  such  a  growing  passion 

As  it  transcended  either  state  or  fashion  : " 

Some  few  may  cry,  "  'Twas  pretty  well,"  or  so, 

"  But — "  and  there  shrug  in  silence :  yet  we  know 

Our  writer's  aim  was  in  the  whole  addrest 

Well  to  deserve  of  all,  but  please  the  best ; 

Which  granted,  by  the  allowance  of  this  strain 

The  BROKEN  HEART  may  be  pieced-up  again. 


LOVE'S    StACl^FICE. 


OVE'S  SACRIFICE  was  acted  at  the 
Phoenix  in  Drury  Lane,  and  published  in 
1633,  as  "a  tragedy  received  generally 
well."  The  source  of  the  story  is  unknown. 
The  passages  in  which  D'Avolos  excites 
the  jealousy  of  the  Duke  were  evidently 
suggested  by  Othello.  The  words  in 
which  D'Avolos  bids  farewell  to  his 

judges  resemble,  as  Ward  points  out,   those  of  Marinelli 

in  Lessing's  Emilia  Galotti. 


To  my  Friend,  Master  John  Ford, 

Unto  this  altar,  rich  with  thy  own  spice, 
I  bring  one  grain  to  thy  LOVE'S  SACRIFICE  ; 
And  boast  to  see  thy  flames  ascending,  while 
Perfumes  enrich  our  air  from  thy  sweet  pile. 
Look  here,  thou  that  hast  malice  to  the  stage, 
And  impudence  enough  for  the  whole  age  ; 
"  Voluminously  "-ignorant,  be  vext 
To  read  this  tragedy,  and  thy  own  be  next. 

JAMES  SHIRLEY. 

Thou  cheat' st  us,  Ford  :  mak'st  one  seem  two  by  art : 
What  is  Love's  Sacrifice  but  the  Broken  Heart  ? 

RICHARD  CRASHAW.* 

1  This  appeared  in  Crashaw's  Delights  of  the  Muses  (1646).  It 
is  interesting  to  note  the  evident  regard  which  the  religious  poet  and 
mystic  felt  for  the  dramatist. 


To  my  Truest  Friend,  m$  Worthiest  Kinsman, 
JOHN  FORD,  OF  GRAY'S  INN,  ESQ. 

HE  title  of  this  little  work,  my  good  cousin, 
is  in  sense  but  the  argument  of  a  dedica 
tion  ;  which  being  in  most  writers  a 
custom,  in  many  a  compliment,  I  question 
not  but  your  clear  knowledge  of  my  intents 
will,  in  me,  read  as  the  earnest  of  affec 
tion.  My  ambition  herein  aims  at  a  fair 
flight,  borne  up  on  the  double  wings  of 
gratitude  for  a  received,  and  acknowledg 
ment  for  a  continued  love.  It  is  not  so  frequent  to  number 
many  kinsmen,  and  amongst  them  some  friends,  as  to  pre 
sume  on  some  friends,  and  amongst  them  little  friendship. 
But  in  every  fulness  of  these  particulars  I  do  not  more 
partake  through  you,  my  cousin,  the  delight  than  enjoy  the 
benefit  of  them.  This  inscription  to  your  name  is  only  a 
Faithful  deliverance  to  memory  of  the  truth  of  my  respects 
:o  virtue,  and  to  the  equal  in  honour  with  virtue,  desert. 
The  contempt  thrown  on  studies  of  this  kind  by  such  as 
dote  on  their  own  singularity '  hath  almost  so  outfaced  in 
vention  and  proscribed  judgment,  that  it  is  more  safe,  more 
wise,  to  be  suspectedly  silent  than  modestly  confident  of 
opinion  herein.  Let  me  be  bold  to  tell  the  severity  of  cen- 
surers  how  willingly  I  neglect  their  practice,  so  long  as  I 
digress  from  no  becoming  thankfulness.  Accept,  then,  my 
cousin,  this  witness  to  posterity  of  my  constancy  to  your 
merits  ;  for  no  ties  of  blood,  no  engagements  of  friendship, 
shall  more  justly  live  a  precedent  than  the  sincerity  of  both 
in  the  heart  of 

JOHN  FORD. 

1  Here  is  an  allusion'to  Prynnc,  also  referred  to  by  Shirley  in  the 
verses  prefixed  to  this  play.  Piynne  had  just  produced  his  "tiistrio- 
tnastix,  or  Actor's  Tragedy,  and  was  at  this  time  before  the  Star- 
Chamber  for  a  supposed  insult  to  the  Queen  by  his  reflection  on 
women-players.  A  few  days  before  Hirtriomtutut  appeared  the 
Queen  and  her  ladies  had  acted  in  a  pastoral  at  Whitehall. 


DRAMA  TIS  PERSONS. 


PHILIPPO  CARAFFA,  Duke  of  Pavia. 
PAULO  BAGLIONE,  Uncle  of  the  Duchess. 
FERNANDO,  Favourite  of  the  Duke. 
FERENTES,  a  wanton  Courtier. 
ROSEILLI,  a  young  Nobleman. 
PETRUCHIO, 


.  two  Counsellors  of  State. 

NlBRASSA, 

RODERICO  D'AVOLOS,  Secretary  to  the  Duke. 

MAURUCCIO,  an  old  Buffoon. 

GlACOPO,  Servant  to  Mauruccio. 

Abbot  of  Monaco. 

Courtiers,  Officers,  Friars,  Attendants,  &c. 

BlANCA,  the  Duchess. 
FIORMONDA,  the  Duke's  Sister. 
COLONA,  Daughter  of  Petruchio. 
JULIA,  Daughter  of  Nibrassa. 
MORONA,  a  Widow. 

SCENE— PAVIA. 


LOVE'S    ScACT^IFICE. 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

SCENE  I. — A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  ROSEILLI  and  RODERICO  D'AVOLOS. 


OS.    Depart  the  court  ? 

D'Av.  Such  was   the    duke's   com 
mand. 

Ros.    You're  secretary  to  the  state 
and  him,  [honest. 

Great  in  his  counsels,  wise,  and,  I  think, 
Have  you,  in  turning  over  old  records, 
Read  but  one  name  descended  of  the  house 
Of  Lesui  in  his  loyalty  remiss  ? 
D'Av.  Never,  my  lord. 
Ros.  Why,  then,   should  I  now,  now  when  glorious 

peace 

Triumphs  in  change  of  pleasures,  be  wiped  off, 
Like  to  a  useless  moth,  from  courtly  ease  ? — 
And  whither  must  I  go  ? 

D*Av.  You  have  the  open  world  before  you. 
Ros.  Why,  then  'tis  like  I'm  banished  ? 
D'Av.  Not  so :  my  warrant  is  only  to  command  you 
from  the  court ;  within  five  hours  to  depart  after  notice 
taken,  and  not  to  live  within  thirty  miles  of  it,  until  it  be 
thought  meet  by  his  excellence  to  call  you  back.     Now 


288  LOVE'S  SA CRIF1CE.  [ACT  I . 

I  have  warned  you,  my  lord,  at  your  peril  be  it,  if  you 
disobey.     I  shall  inform  the  duke  of  your  discontent. 

[Exit. 

Jtos.  Do,  politician,  do  !     I  scent  the  plot 
Of  this  disgrace ;  'tis  Fiormonda,  she, 
That  glorious  widow,  whose  commanding  check 
Ruins  my  love :  like  foolish  beasts,  thus  they 
Find  danger  that  prey  too  near  the  lions'  den. 

Enter  FERNANDO  and  PETRUCHIO. 

Fern.  My  noble  lord,  Roseilli ! 

Jtos.  Sir,  the  joy 

I  should  have  welcomed  you  with  is  wrapt  up 
.  In  clouds  of  my  disgrace  ;  yet,  honoured  sir, 
Howsoe'er  frowns  of  great  ones  cast  me  down, 
My  service  shall  pay  tribute  in  my  lowness 
To  your  uprising  virtues. 

Fern.  Sir,  I  know 

You  are  so  well  acquainted  with  your  own, 
You  need  not  flatter  mine  :  trust  me,  my  lord, 
I'll  be  a  suitor  for  you. 

Pet.  And  I'll  second 

My  nephew's  suit  with  importunity. 

jRos.  You  are,  my  Lord  Fernando,  late  returned 
From  travels ;  pray  instruct  me : — since  the  voice 
Of  most  supreme  authority  commands 
My  absence,  I  determine  to  bestow 
Some  time  in  learning  languages  abroad  ; 
Perhaps  the  change  of  air  may  change  in  me 
Remembrance  of  my  wrongs  at  home :  good  sir, 
Inform  me ;  say  I  meant  to  live  in  Spain, 
What  benefit  of  knowledge  might  I  treasure  ? 

Fern.  Troth,  sir,  I'll  freely  speak  as  I  have  found. 
In  Spain  you  lose  experience ;  'tis  a  climate 
Too  hot  to  nourish  arts  ; l  the  nation  proud, 

1  It  was  the  age  of  Velasquez  and  Calderon,  but  Spain  was  not 
popular  in  England  at  this  period.  Ford  was  probably  indebted 
in  part  to  Howell  for  this  description. 


SCENE  I.]         ,   LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  289 

And  in  their  pride  unsociable  ;  the  court 
More  pliable  to  glorify  itself 
Than  do  a  stranger  grace  :  if  you  intend 
To  traffic  like  a  merchant,  'twere  a  place 
Might  better  much  your  trade  ;  but  as  for  me, 
I  soon  took  surfeit  on  it. 

Ros.  What  for  France  ? 

fern.  France  I  more  praise  and  love.     You  are,  my 

lord, 

Yourself  for  horsemanship  much  famed  ;  and  there 
You  shall  have  many  proofs  to  show  your  skill.1 
The  French  are  passing  courtly,  ripe  of  wit, 
Kind,  but  extreme  dissemblers  ;  you  shall  have 
A  Frenchman  ducking  lower  than  your  knee, 
At  the  instant  mocking  even  your  very  shoe-ties. 
To  give  the  country  due,  it  is  on  earth 
A  paradise ;  and  if  you  can  neglect 
Your  own  appropriaments,  but  praising  that 
In  others  wherein  you  excel  yourself, 
You  shall  be  much  beloved  there. 

Ros.  Yet  methought 

I  heard  you  and  the  duchess,  two  night  since, 
Discoursing  of  an  island  thereabouts, 
Called — let  me  think — 'twas — 

Fern.  England  ? 

Ros.  That :  pray,  sir— 

You   have   been  there,  methought  I  he'ard  you  praise 
it. 

Fern.  I'll  tell  you. what  I  found  there  ;  men  as  neat, 
As  courtly  as  the  French,  but  in  condition 2 
Quite  opposite.     Put  case  that  you,  my  lord, 
Could  be  more  rare  on  horseback  than  you  are, 

1  It  seems  that  about  this  period  the  English  were  surpassed  by 
most  nations  in  this  noble  art :  nor  was  it  till  James  I.  wisely  en 
couraged  horse-races,  that  we  thought  of  improving  the  old,  heavy, 
short-winded  breed  of  horses,  by  the  introduction  of  Barbary  and 
other  stallions.— Gifford. 

z  Disposition. 
Ford.  U 


29o  LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  [ACT  I. 

If  there — as  there  are  many — one  excelled 
You  in  your  art  as  much  *as  you  do  others, 
Yet  will  the  English  think  their  own  is  nothing 
Compared  with  you,  a  stranger  ;  in  their  habits 
They  are  not  more  fantastic  than  uncertain ; 
In  short,  their  fair  abundance,  manhood,  beauty, 
No  nation  can  disparage  but  itself. 

Ros.  My  lord,  you  have  much  eased  me ;  I  resolve. 

Fern.  And  whither  are  you  bent  ? 

Ros.  My  lord,  for  travel ; 

To  speed  or  England. 

Fern.  No,  my  lord,  you  must  not : 

I  have  yet  some  private  conference 
T'  impart  unto  you  for  your  good ;  at  night 
I'll  meet  you  at  my  Lord  Petruchio's  house  : 
Till  then  be  secret. 

Ros.  Dares  my  cousin  trust  me  ? 

Pet.  Dare  I,  my  lord !  yes,  'less  your  fact  were  greater 
Than  a  bold  woman's  spleen. 

Ross.  The  duke's  at  hand, 

And  I  must  hence  :  my  service  to  your  lordships.     {Exit. 

Pet.  Now,  nephew,  as  I  told  you,  since  the  duke 
Hath  held  the  reins  of  state  in  his  own  hand, 
Much  altered  from  the  man  he  was  before, — 

As  if  he  were  transformed  in  his  mind,1 
To  soothe  him  in  his  pleasures,  amongst  whom 
Is  iond  Ferentes  ;  one  whose  pride  takes  pride 
In  nothing  more  than  to  delight  his  lust ; 
And  he — with  grief  I  speak  it — hath,  I  fear, 
Too  much  besotted  my  unhappy  daughter, 
My  poor  Colona ;  whom,  for  kindred's  sake, 
As  you  are  noble,  as  you  honour  virtue, 
Persuade  to  love  herself:  a  word  from  you 
May  win  her  more  than  my  entreaties  or  frowns, 

' l  One  or  more  lines,  the  purport  of  which  may  easily  be  gathered, 
have  dropped  out  here. 


SCENE  i.]  LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  291 

Fern.  Uncle,   I'll  do  my  best :    meantime,   pray  tell 

me, 

Whose  mediation  wrought  the  marriage 
Betwixt  the  duke  and  duchess, — who  was  agent. 

Pet.  His  roving  eye  and  her  enchanting  face, 
The  only  dower  nature  had  ordained 
T'  advance  her  to  her  bride-bed.     She  was  daughter 
Unto  a  gentleman  of  Mildn — no  better — 
Preferred  to  serve  i'  the  Duke  of  Milan's  court ; 
Where  for  her  beauty  she  was  greatly  famed  : 
And  passing  late  from  thence  to  Monaco 
To  visit  there  her  uncle,  Paul  Baglione 
The  Abbot,  Fortune — queen  to  such  blind  matches — 
Presents  her  to  the  duke's  eye,  on  the  way, 
As  he  pursues  the  deer  :  in  short,  my  lord, 
He  saw  her,  loved  her,  wooed  her,  won  her,  matched 

her ; 
No  counsel  could  divert  him. 

Fern.  She  is  fair. 

Pet.  She  is ;  and,  to  speak  truth,  I  think  right  noble 
In  her  conditions.1 

Fern.  If,  when  I  should  choose, 

Beauty  and  virtue  were  the  fee  proposed, 
I  should  not  pass2  for  parentage. 

Pet.  The  duke 

Doth  come. 

Fern.  Let's  break-off  talk. — [Aside]  If  ever,  now, 
Good  angel  of  my  soul,  protect  my  truth  ! 

Enter  the  Duke,  BIANCA,  FIORMONDA,  NIBRASSA, 
FERENTES,  JULIA,  and  D'AVOLOS. 

Duke.  Come,  my  Bianca,  revel  in  mine  arms  ; 
Whiles  I,  wrapt  in  my  admiration,  view 
Lilies  and  roses  growing  in  thy  cheeks. — 
Fernando  !  O,  thou  half  myself  !  no  joy 
Could  make  my  pleasure  full  without  thy  presence  : 

1  Disposition.  2  i.e.  Care. 


292-  L O VE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  L 

/ 

I  am  a  monarch  of  felicity, 

Proud  in  a  pair  of  jewels,  rich  and  beautiful, — 

A  perfect  friend,  a  wife  above  compare. 

Fern.  Sir,  if  a  man  so  low  in  rank  may  hope, 
By  loyal  duty  and  devoted  zeal, 
To  hold  a  correspondency  in  friendship 
With  one  so  mighty  as  the  Duke  of  Pavy, l 
My  uttermost  ambition  is  to  climb 
To  those  deserts  may  give  the  style  of  servant. 

Duke.  Of  partner  in  my  dukedom,  in  my  heart, 
As  freely  as  the  privilege  of  blood 
Hath  made  them  mine  ;  Philippo  and  Fernando 
Shall  be  without  distinction. — Look,  Bianca, 
On  this  good  man  ;  in  all  respects  to  him 
Be  as  to  me  :  only  the  name  of  husband, 
And  reverent  observance  of  our  bed, 
Shall  differ  us  in  person,  else  in  soul 
We  are  all  one. 

Bian.  I  shall,  in  best  of  love, 

Regard  the  bosom-partner  of  my  lord. 

Fior.  [Aside  to  FERENTES]  Ferentes, — 

Feren.  [Aside  to  FIORMONDA]  Madam  ? 

Fior.  [Aside  to  FERENTES]  You  are  one  loves  courtship 
He  hath  some  change  of  words,2  'twere  no  lost  labour 
To  stuff  your  table-books ; 3  the  man  speaks  wisely  ! 

Feren.  [Aside  to  FIORMONDA]  I'm  glad  your  highness 
is  so  pleasant. 

Duke.  Sister, — 

Fior.  My  lord  and  brother  ? 

Duke.  You  are  too  silent, 

Quicken4  your  sad  remembrance,  though  thf  loss 
Of  your  dead  husband  be  of  more  account 
Than  slight  neglect,  yet  'tis  a  sin  against 
The  state  of  princes  to  exceed  a  mean 
In  mourning  for  the  dead. 

'•  Pavia.  3  Memorandum  book. 

2  i.e.  He  is  a  ready  talker.  4  Enliven. 


SCENE  I .]  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  293 

Fior.  Should  form,  my  lord, 

Prevail  above  affection  ?  no,  it  cannot. 
You  have  yourself  here  a  right  noble  duchess, 
Virtuous  at  least ;  and  should  your  grace  now  pay — 
Which  Heaven  forbid  ! — the  debt  you  owe  to  nature, 
I  dare  presume  she'd  not  so  soon  forget 
A  prince    that    thus   advanced    her. — Madam,    could 
you? 

D'Av.   \Aside\  Bitter  and  shrewd. 

Bian.  Sister,  I  should  too  much  bewray  my  weakness, 
To  give  a  resolution  on  a  passion 

•  I  never  felt  nor  feared. 

Nib.  A  modest  answer. 

Fern.   If  credit  may  be  given  to  a  face, 
My  lord,  I'll  undertake  on  her  behalf; 

•  Her  words  are  trusty  heralds  to  her  mind. 

Fior.   [Aside  to  D'AVOLOS]  Exceeding  good  ;  the  man 

will  "undertake"  ! 
Observe  it,  D'Avolos. 

D'Av.  \Aside  to  FIORMONDA]  Lady,  I  do  ; 
'Tis  a  smooth  praise. 

Duke.  Friend,  in  thy  judgment  I  approve  thy  love, 
And  love  thee  better  for  thy  judging  mine. 
Though  my  gray-headed  senate  in  the  laws 
Of  strict  opinion  and  severe  dispute 
Would  tie  the  limits  of  our  free  affects,1 — 
Like  superstitious  Jews, — to  match  with  none 
But  in  a  tribe  of  princes  like  ourselves, 
Gross-nurtured  slaves,  who  force  their  wretched  souls 
To  crouch  to  profit ;  nay,  for  trash  and  wealth 
Dote  on  some  crooked  or  misshapen  form  ; 
Hugging  wise  nature's  lame  deformity, 
Begetting  creatures  ugly  as  themselves  : — 
But  why  should  princes  do  so,  that  command 
The  storehouse  of  the  earth's  hid  minerals  ?    - 
No,  my  Bianca,  thou'rt  to  me  as  dear 

1  i.e.  Affections. 


294  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  i. 

As  if  thy  portion  had  been  Europe's  riches  ; 
Since  in  thine  eyes  lies  more  than  these  are  worth. 
Set  on  ;  they  shall  be  strangers  to  my  heart 
That  envy  thee  thy  fortunes. — Come,  Fernando, 
My  but  divided  self ;  what  we  have  done 
We  are  only  debtor  to  Heaven  for. — On  ! 

Fior.  [Aside  to  D'AVOLOS.]  Now  take   thy  time,   or 

never,  D'Avolos ; 
Prevail,  and  I  will  raise  thee  high  in  grace. 

D'Av.  [Aside  to  FIORMONDA.]  Madam,  I  will  omit  no 
art. 

[Exeunt  all  but  D'AVOLOS,  who  recalls  FERNANDO. 
My  honoured  Lord  Fernando  ! 

Fern.  To  me,  sir  ? 

D'Av.  Let  me  beseech  your  lordship  to  excuse  me,  in 
the  nobleness  of  your  wisdom,  if  I  exceed  good  manners  : 
I  am  one,  my  lord,  who  in  the  admiration  of  your  perfect 
virtues  do  so  truly  honour  and  reverence  your  deserts, 
that  there  is  not  a  creature  bears  life  shall  more  faithfully 
study  to  do  .you  service  in  all  offices  of  duty  and  vows  of 
due  respect. 

Fern.  Good  sir,  you  bind  me  to  you :  is  this  all  ? 

D'Av.  I  beseech  your  ear  a  little  ;  good  my  lord,  what 
I  have  to  speak  concerns  your  reputation  and  best 
fortune. 

Fern.  How's  that  !  my  reputation  ?  lay  aside 
Superfluous  ceremony ;  speak  ;  what  is't  ? 

D'Av.  I  do  repute  myself  the  blessedest  man  alive, 
that  I  shall  be  the  first  gives  your  lordship  news  of  your 
perpetual  comfort. 

Fern.  As  how  ? 

D'1  Av.  If  singular  beauty,  unimitable  virtues,  honour, 
youth,  and  absolute  goodness  be  a  fortune,  all  those  are 
at  once  offered  to  your  particular  choice. 

Fern.  Without  delays,  which  way  ? 

D'  Av.  The  great  and  gracious  Lady  Fiormonda  loves 
you,  infinitely  loves  you. — But,  my  lord,  as  ever  you 


SCENE  i. ]  LOVE'S  SA ORIFICE.  20.5 

tendered  a  servant  to  your  pleasures,  let  me  not  be  re 
vealed  that  I  gave  you  notice  on't. 

Fern.  Sure,  you  are  strangely  out  of  tune,  sir. 

D'Av.  Please  but  to  speak  to  her;  be  but  courtly- 
•  ceremonious  with  her,  use  once  but  the  language  of  affec 
tion,  if  I  misreport  aught  besides  my  knowledge,  let  me 
never  have  place  in  your  good  opinion.  O,  these  women, 
my  lord,  are  as  brittle  metal  as  your  glasses,  as  smooth, 
as  slippery, — their  very  first  substance  was  quicksands : l 
let  'em  look  never  so  demurely,  one  fillip  chokes  them. 
My  lord,  she  loves  you  ;  I  know  it. — But  I  beseech  your 
lordship  not  to  discover  me  ;  I  would  not  for  the  world 
she  should  that  you  know  it  by  me. 

Fern.  I  understand  you,  and  to  thank  your  care 
Will  study  to  requite  it ;  and  I  vow 
She  never  shall  have  notice  of  your  news 
By  me  or  by  my  means.     And,  worthy  sir, 
Let  me  alike  enjoin  you  not  to  speak 
A  word  of  that  I  understand  her  love  ; 
And  as  for  me,  my  word  shall  be  your  surety 
I'll  not  as  much  as  give  her  cause  to  think 
I  ever  heard  it. 

D'Av.  Nay,  my  lord,  whatsoever  I  infer,  you  may 
break  with  her  in  it,  if  you  please ;  for,  rather  than  silence 
should  hinder  you  one  step  to  such  a  fortune,  I  will 
expose  myself  to  any  rebuke  for  your  sake,  my  good 
lord. 

Fern.  You  shall  not  indeed,  sir;  I  am  still  your  friend, 
and  will  prove  so.  For  the  present  I  am  forced  to  attend 
the  duke :  good  hours  befall  ye !  I  must  leave  you.  \Exit. 

D1  AV.  Gone  already  ?  'sfoot,  I  ha'  marred  all !  this  is 
worse  and  worse ;  he's  as  cold  as  hemlock.  If  her  high 
ness  knows  how  I  have  gone  to  work  she'll  thank  me 
scurvily  :  a  pox  of  all  dull  brains  !  I  took  the  clean  con- 

1  In  allusion  to  the  traditionary  stories  of  the  first  discovery  of 
glass  by  the  Phoenician  mariners  in  consequence  of  their  lighting  a 
fire  on  the  sand. — Gifford. 


296  Z  O  yjS'  S  SA  CRIFICE.  [ACT  i . 

trary  course.  There  is  a  mystery  in  this  slight  careless 
ness  of  his ;  I  must  sift  it,  and  I  will  find  it.  Ud's  me, 
fool  myself  out  of  my  wit !  well,  I'll  choose  some  fitter 
opportunity  to  inveigle  him,  and  till  then  smooth  her  up 
that  he  is  a  man  overjoyed  with  the  report.  [£xit. 


SCENE  II.—  Another  Room  in  the  Palace, 
Enter  FERENTES  and  COLONA. 

Feren.  Madam,  by  this  light  I  vow  myself  your  servant ; 
only  yours,  in  especially  yours.  Time,  like  a  turncoat, 
may  order  and  disorder  the  outward  fashions  of  our 
bodies,  but  shall  never  enforce  a  change  on  the  con 
stancy  of  my  mind.  Sweet  Colona,  fair  Colona,  young 
and  sprightful  lady,  do  not  let  me  in  the  best  of  my  youth 
languish  in  my  earnest  affections. 

Col.  Why  should  you  seek,  my  lord,  to  purchase  glory 
By  the  disgrace  of  a  silly  maid. 

Feren.  That  I  confess  too.  I  am  every  way  so  un 
worthy  of  the  first-fruits  of  thy  embraces,  so  far  beneath 
the  riches  of  thy  merit,  that  it  can  be  no  honour  to  thy 
fame  to  rank  me  in  the  number  of  thy  servants;  yet  prove 
me  how  true,  how  firm  I  will  stand  to  thy  pleasures,  to  thy 
command ;  and,  as  time  shall  serve,  be  ever  thine.  Now, 
prithee,  dear  Colona, — 

Col.  Well,  well,  my  lord,  I  have  no  heart  of  flint ; 
Or  if  I  had,  you  know  by  cunning  words 
How  to  outwear  it : — but — • 

Feren.  But  what?  do  not  pity  thy  own  gentleness, 
lovely  Colona.  Shall  I  ?  Speak,  shall  I  ? — say  but  ay, 
and  our  wishes  are  made  up. 

Col.  How  shall  I  say  ay,  when  my  fears  say  no  ? 

Feren.  You  will  not  fail  to  meet  me  two  hours  hence, 
sweet  ? 


SCENE  II.]  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  297 

Col.  No; 
Yes,  yes,  I  would  have  said  :  how  my  tongue  trips  ! 

Feren.  I  take  that  promise  and  that  double  "yes"  as 
an  assurance  of  thy  faith.  In  the  grove ;  good  sweet, 
remember ;  in  any  case  alone, — d'ye  mark,  love  ?— not 
as  much  as  your  duchess'  little  dog ;— you'll  not  for 
get  ? — two  hours  hence — think  on't,  and  miss  not :  till 
then — 

Col,  0,  if  you  should  prove  false,  and  love  another  ! 

Feren.  Defy  me,  then !  I'll  be  all  thine,  and  a  servant 
only  to  thee,  only  to  thee.  {Exit  COLONA] — Very  passing 
good !  three  honest  women  in  our  courts  here  of  Italy 
are  enough  to  discredit  a  whole  nation  of  that  sex.  He 
that  is  not;a  cuckold  or  a  bastard  is  a  strangely  happy 
man ;  for  a  chaste  wife,  or  a  mother  that  never  stepped 
awry,  are  wonders,  wonders  in  Italy.  'Slife  !  I  have  got 
the  feat  on't,  and  am  every  day  more  active  in  my  trade  : 
'tis  a  sweet  sin,  this  slip  of  mortality,  and  I  have  tasted 
enough  for  one  passion  of  my  senses. — Here  comes  more 
work  for  me. 

Enter  JULIA. 

And  how  does  my  own  Julia  ?  Mew  upon  this  sadness  ! 
what's  the  matter  you  are  melancholy  ? — Whither  away, 
wench  ? 

Jul.  Tis  well ;  the  time  has  been  when  your  smooth 

tongue 

Would  not  have  mocked  my  griefs  ;  and  had  I  been 
More  chary  of  mine  honour,  you  had  still 
Been  lowly  as  you  were. 

Feren.  Lowly  !  why,  I  am  sure  I  cannot  be  much 
more  lowly  than  I  am  to  thee  ;  thou  bringest  me  on  my 
bare  knees,  wench,  twice  in  every  four-and-twenty  hours, 
besides  half-turns  instead  of  bevers.1  What  must  we  next 
do,  sweetheart? 

Jul.  Break  vows  on  your  side  ;  I  expect  no  other, 

1  A  slight  repast,  usually  between  breakfast  and  dinner. 


2 g8  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  i. 

But  every  day  look  when  some  newer  choice 
May  violate  your  honour  and  my  trust. 

Feren.  Indeed,  forsooth  !  how  say  ye  by  that,  la  ?  I 
hope  I  neglect  no  opportunity  to  your  nunquam  satis,  to 
be  called  in  question  for.  Go,  thou  art  as  fretting  as  an 
old  grogram : l  by  this  hand,  I  love  thee  for't ;  it  becomes 
thee  so  prettily  to  be  angry.  Well,  if  thou  shouldst  die, 
farewell  all  love  with  me  for  ever !  go ;  I'll  meet  thee 
soon  in  thy  lady's  back-lobby,  I  will,  wench ;  look  for 
me. 

Jul.  But  'shall  I  be  resolved 2  you  will  be  mine  ? 

Feren.  All  thine;  I  will  reserve  my  best  ability,  my 
heart,  my  honour  only  to  thee,  only  to  thee.  Pity  of  my 
blood,  away !  I  hear  company  coming  on :  remember, 
soon  I  am  all  thine,  I  will  live  perpetually  only  to  thee  : 
away  !  [Exit  JULIA]  'Sfoot !  I  wonder  about  what  time 
of  the  year  I  was  begot ;  sure,  it  was  when  the  moon  was 
in  conjunction,  and  all  the  other  planets  drunk  at  a 
morris-dance :  I  am  haunted  above  patience ;  my  mind 
is  not  as  infinite  to  do  as  my  occasions  are  proffered  of 
doing.  Chastity  !  I  am  an  eunuch  if  I  think  there  be  any 
such  thing;  or  if  there  be,  'tis  amongst  us  men,  for  I 
never  found  it  in  a  woman  thoroughly  tempted  yet.  I 
have  a  shrewd  hard  task  coming  on ;  but  let  it  pass. — 
Who  comes  now  ?  My  lord,  the  duke's  friend  !  I  will 
strive  to  be  inward  with  him. 

Enter  FERNANDO. 
My  noble  Lord  Fernando  ! — 

Fern.  My  Lord  Ferentes,  I  should  change  some  words 
Of  consequence  with  you  ;  but  since  I  am, 
For  this  time,  busied  in  more  serious  thoughts, 
I'll  pick  some  fitter  opportunity. 

Feren.  I  will  wait  your  pleasure,  my  lord.  Good-day 
to  your  lordship.  [Exit. 

1  A  coarse  "kind  of  silk  taffety,  usually  stiffened  with  gum,  and 
easily  losing  its  gloss. 
z  Assured. 


SCENE  II.]  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  299 

Fern,  Traitor  to  friendship,  whither  shall  I  run, 
That,  lost  to  reason,  cannot  sway  the  float 
Of  the  unruly  faction  in  my  blood  ? 
The  duchess,  O,  the  duchess  !  in  her  smiles 
Are  all  my  joys  abstracted. — Death  to  my  thoughts  ! 
My  other  plague  comes  to  me. 

Enter  FIORMONDA  and  JULIA. 

Fior.  My  Lord  Fernando,  what,  so  hard  at  study ! 
You  are  a  kind  companion  to  yourself, 
That  love  to  be  alone  so. 

Fern.  Madam,  no ; 

I  rather  chose  this  leisure  to  admire 
The  glories  of  this  little  world,  the  court, 
Where,  like  so  many  stars,  on  several  thrones 
Beauty  and  greatness  shine  in  proper  orbs ; 
Sweet  matter  for  my  meditation. 

Fior.  So,  so,  sir ! — Leave  us,  Julia  \Exit  JULIA] — your 

own  proof, 

By  travel  and  prompt  observation, 
Instructs  you  how  to  place  the  use  of  speech. — 
But  since  you  are  at  leisure,  pray  let's  sit : 
We'll  pass  the  time  a  little  in  discourse. 
What  have  you  seen  abroad  ? 

Fern.  No  wonders,  lady, 

Like  these  I  see  at  home. 

Fior.  At  home  !  as  how  ? 

Fern.  Your  pardon,  if  my  tongue,  the  voice  of  truth, 
Report  but  what  is  warranted  by  sight. 

Fior.  What  sight  ? 

Fern.  Look  in  your  glass,  and  you  shall  sec 

A  miracle. 

Fior.          What  miracle  ? 

Fern.  Your  beauty, 

So  far  above  all  beauties  else  abroad 
As  you  are  in  your  own  superlative. 

Fior.  Fie,  fie  !  your  wit  hath  too  much  edge. 


300  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  I. 

Fern.  Would  that, 

Or  any  thing  that  I  could  challenge  mine, 
Were  but  of  value  to  express  how  much 
I  serve  in  love  the  sister  of  my  prince  ! 

Fior.  Tis    for    your    prince's    sake,    then,   not    for 
mine  ? 

Fern.  For  you  in  him,  and  much  for  him  in  you. 
I  must  acknowledge,  madam,  I  observe 
In  your  affects  1  a  thing  to  me  most  strange, 
Which  makes  me  so  much  honour  you  the  more. 

Fior.  Pray,  tell  it. 

Fern.  Gladly,  lady : 

I  see  how  opposite  to  youth  and  custom 
You  set  before  you,  in  the  tablature 
Of  your  remembrance,  the  becoming  griefs 
Of  a  most  loyal  lady  for  the  loss 
Of  so  renowned  a  prince  as  was  your  lord. 

Fior.  Now,  good  my  lord,  no  more  of  him. 

Fern.  Of  him  ! 

I  know  it  is  a  needless  task  in  me 
To  set  him  forth  in  his  deserved  praise ; 
You  better  can  record  it ;  for  you  find 
How  much  more  he  exceeded  other  men 
In  most  heroic  virtues  of  account, 
So  much  more  was  your  loss  in  losing  him. 
Of  him  !  his  praise  should  be  a  field  too  large, 
Too  spacious,  for  so  mean  an  orator 
As  I  to  range  in. 

Fior.  Sir,  enough  :  'tis  true 

He  well  deserved  your  labour.     On  his  deathbed 
This  ring  he  gave  me,  bade  me  never  part 
With  this  but  to  the  man  I  loved  as  dearly 
As  I  loved  him  :  yet  since  you  know  which  way  - 
To  blaze  his  worth  so  rightly,  in  return 
To  your  deserts  wear  this  for  him  and  me. 

[  Offers  him  the  ring. 
1  Affections. 


SCENE  II .]  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  301 

Fern.  Madam  ! 

Fior.  'Tis  yours, 

Fern.  Methought  you  said  he  charged  you 

Not  to  impart  it  but  to  him  you  loved 
As  dearly  as  you  loved  him. 

Fior.  True,  I  said  so. 

Fern.  O,  then,  far  be  it  my  unhallowed  hand 
With  any  rude  intrusion  should  annul 
A  testament  enacted  by  the  dead  ! 

Fior.  Why,  man,  that  testament  is  disannulled 
And  cancelled  quite  by  us  that  live.     Look  here, 
My  blood  is  not  yet  freezed ;  for  better  instance, 
Be  judge  yourself;  experience  is  no  danger — 
Cold  are  my  sighs  ;  but,  feel,  my  lips  are  warm'. 

\Kisses  hint. 

Fern.  What  means  the  virtuous  marquess  ? 

Fior.  To  new-kiss 

The  oath  to  thee,  which  whiles  he  lived  was  his : 
Hast  thou  yet  power  to  love  ? 

Fern.  To  love  ! 

Fior.  To  meet 

Sweetness  of  language  in  discourse  as  sweet  ? 

Fern.  Madam,  'twere  dulness  past  the  ignorance 
Of  common  blockheads  not  to  understand 
Whereto  this  favour  tends ;  and  'tis  a  fortune 
So  much  above  my  fate,  that  I  could  wish 
No  greater  happiness  on  earth  :  but  know 
Long  since  I  vowed  to  live  a  single  life. 

Fior.  What  was't  you  said? 

Fern.  I  said  I  made  a  vow — 

Enter  BIANCA,  PETRUCHIO.  COLOXA,  and  D'AVOLOS. 

[X,fft&]  Blessed  deliverance  ! 

Fior.   \_Aside.}    Prevented?  mischief  on  this  interrup 
tion  ! 

Bian.  My  Lord  Fernando,  you  encounter  fitly 
I  have  a  suit  t'ye. 


302  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  I. 

Fern.  'Tis  my  duty,  madam, 

To  be  commanded. 

Bian.  Since  my  lord  the  duke 

Is  now  disposed  to  mirth,  the  time  serves  well 
For  mediation,  that  he  would  be  pleased 
To  take  the  Lord  Roseilli  to  his  grace. 
He  is  a  noble  gentleman ;  I  dare 
Engage  my  credit,  loyal  to  the  state ; — 
And,  sister,  one  that  ever  strove,  methought, 
By  special  service  and  obsequious  care, 
To  win  respect  from  you  :  it  were  a  part 
Of  gracious  favour,  if  you  pleased  to  join 
With  us  in  being  suitors  to  the  duke 
For  his  return  to  court. 

Fior.  To  court !  indeed, 

You  have  some  cause  to  speak;  he  undertook, 
Most  champion-like,  to  win  the  prize  at  tilt, 
In  honour  of  your  picture;  marry,  did  he. 
There's  not  a  groom  o'  the  querry  could  have  matched 
The  jolly  riding-man  :  pray,  get  him  back ; 
I  do  not  need  his  service,  madam,  I. 

Bian.  Not  need  it,  sister  ?  why,  I  hope  you  think 
'Tis  no  necessity  in  me  to  move  it, 
More  than  respect  of  honour. 

Fior.  Honour !  puh  ! 

Honour  is  talked  of  more  than  known  by  some. 

Bian.  Sister,  these  words  I  understand  not. 

Fern.   \Aside, .]  Swell  not,  unruly  thoughts  ! — 
Madam,  the  motion  you  propose  proceeds 
From  the  true  touch  of  goodness;  'tis  a  plea 
Wherein  my  tongue  and  knee  shall  jointly  strive 
To  beg  his  highness  for  Roseilli's  cause. 
Your  judgment  rightly  speaks  him ;  there  is  not 
In  any  court  of  Christendom  a  man 
For  quality  or  trust  more  absolute. 

Fior.   [Aside.]  How  !  is't  even  so  ? 

Pet.  I  shall  for  ever  bless 


SCENE  II.]  LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  303 

Your  highness  for  your  gracious  kind  esteem 
Of  my  disheartened  kinsman  ;  and  to  add 
Encouragement  to  what  you  undertake, 
I  dare  affirm  'tis  no  important  fault 
Hath  caused  the  duke's  distaste. 

Bian.  I  hope  so  too. 

D'Av.  Let  your  highness,  and  you  all,  my  lords,  take 
advice  how  you  motion  his  excellency  on  Roseilli's  be 
half;  there  is  more  danger  in  that  man  than  is  fit  to  be 
publicly  reported.  I  could  wish  things  were  otherwise 
or  his  own  sake ;  but  I'll  assure  ye,  you  will  exceedingly 
alter  his  excellency's  disposition  he  now  is  in,  if  you  but 
mention  the  name  of  Roseilli  to  his  ear ;  I  am  so  much 
acquainted  in  the  process  of  his  actions. 

Bian.  If  it  be  so,  I  am  the  sorrier,  sir : 
I'm  loth  to  move  my  lord  unto  offence ; 
Yet  I'll  adventure  chiding. 

Fern.    \Aside^\  O,  had  I  India's  gold,  I'd  give  it  all 
T'  exchange  one  private  word,  one  minute's  breath, 
With  this  heart-wounding  beauty ! 

Enter  the  Duke,  FERENTES,  and  NIBRASSA. 

Duke.  Prithee,  no  more,  Ferentes  ;  by  the  faith 
I  owe  to  honour,  thou  hast  made  me  laugh 
Beside  my  spleen.1 — Fernando,  hadst  thou  heard 
The  pleasant  humour  of  Mauruccio's  dotage 
Discoursed,  how  in  the  winter  of  his  age 
He  is  become  a  lover,  thou  wouldst  swear 
A  morris-dance  were  but  a  tragedy 
Compared  to  that :  well,  we  will  see  the  youth. — 
What  council  hold  you  now,  sirs  ? 

Bian.  We,  my  lord, 

Wrre  talking  of  the  horsemanship  in  France, 
Which,  as  your  friend  reports,  he  thinks  exceeds 
All  other  nations. 

1  i.e.  Beyond  my  nature,  the  spleen  being  regarded  as  the  source 
of  any  sudden  and  violent  ebullition. 


304  LOVE'S  SA CRIF1CE.  [ACT  i . 

Duke.  How !  why,  have  not  we 

As  gallant  riders  here  ? 

Fern.  None  that  I  know. 

Duke.  Pish,  your  affection  leads  you  ;  I  dare  wage 
A  thousand  ducats,  not  a  man  in  France 
Outrides  Roseilli. 

Figr.   \Aside  ^\   I  shall  quit  this  wrong. 

Bian.  I  said  as  much,  my  lord. 

Fern.  I  have  not  seen 

His  practice  since  my  coming  back. 

Duke.  Where  is  he? 

How  is't  we  see  him  not? 

Pet.   [Aside.}  What's  this  ?  what's  this  ? 

Fern.  I  hear  he  was  commanded  from  the  court. 

D 'Av.  [Aside.}  O,  confusion  on  this  villainous  occa 
sion  ! 

Duke.  True ;  but  we  meant  a  day  or  two  at  most 
Should  be  his  furthest  term.     Not  yet  returned  ? 
Where's  D'Avolos  ? 

D'Av.  [Advancing.}  My  lord  ? 

Duke.  You  know  our  mind : 

How  comes  it  thus  to  pass  we  miss  Roseilli  ? 

D'Av.  My  lord,  in  a  sudden  discontent  I  hear  he 
departed  towards  Benevento,  determining,  as  I  am  given 
to  understand,  to  pass  to  Seville,  minding  to  visit  his 
cousin,  Don  Pedro  de  Toledo,  in  the  Spanish  court. 

Duke.  The  Spanish  court !  now  by  the  blessed  bones 
Of  good  Saint  Francis,  let  there  posts  be  sent 
To  call  him  back,  or  I  will  post  thy  head 
Beneath  my  foot :  ha,  you  !  you  know  my  mind  ; 
Look  that  you  get  him  back  :  the  Spanish  court ! 
And  without  our  commission  ! — 

Pet.  \Aside.}  Here's  fine  juggling  ! 

Bian.  Good  sir,  be  not  so  moved. 

Duke.  Fie,  fie,  Bianca, 

'Tis  such  a  gross  indignity;  I'd  rather 


SCENE  II.]         LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  305 

Have  lost  seven  years'  revenue : — the  Spanish  court ! — 
How  now,  what  ails  our  sister? 

Fior.  On  the  sudden 

I  fall  a-bleeding ;  'tis  an  ominous  sign, 
Pray  Heaven  it  turn  to  good  ! — Your  highness'  leave. 

[Exit. 

Duke.    Look    to    her.  —  Come,    Fernando,  —  come, 

Bianca, — 

Let's  strive  to  overpass  this  choleric  heat. — 
Sirrah,   see  that  you  trifle  not.   [To  D'AvOLOs] — How 

we 

Who  sway  the  manage  of  authority 
May  be  abused  by  smooth  officious  agents  ! — 
But  look  well  to  our  sister. 

[Exeunt  all  but  PETRUCHIO  and  FERNANDO. 

Pet.  Nephew,  please  you 

To  see  your  friend  to-night  ? 

Fern.  Yes,  uncle,  yes.     [Exit  PETRUCHIO. 

Thus  bodies  walk  unsouled  !  mine  eyes  but  follow 
My  heart  entombed  in  yonder  goodly  shrine : 
Life  without  her  is  but  death's  subtle  snares, 
And  I  am  but  a  coffin  to  my  cares.  [Exit. 


Ford. 


ACT    THE    SECOND. 


SCENE  I. — A  Room  in  MAURUCCIO'S  Hozise. 

MAURUCCIO  looking  in  a  glass,  trimming  his  beard; 
GIACOPO  brushing  him. 


'AUR.    Beard,   be   confined   to   neatness, 


that  no  hair 
May  stover  up l  to  prick  my  mistress' 

lip, 

More  rude  than  bristles  of  a  porcupine. — 
Giacopo ! 

My  lord? 

Am  I  all  sweet  behind  ?• 


Gia. 

Man. 


Gia.  I  have  no  poulterer's  nose ;  but  your  apparel 
sits  about  you  most  debonairly. 

Man.  But,  Giacopo,  with  what  grace  do  my  words 
proceed  out  of  my  mouth  ?  Have  I  a  moving  counte 
nance?  is  there  harmony  in  my  voice  ?  canst  thou  per 
ceive,  as  it  were,  a  handsomeness  of  shape  in  my  very 
breath,  as  it  is  formed  into  syllables,  Giacopo  ? 

Enter  above  Duke,  BIANCA,  FIORMONDA,  FERNANDO, 
Courtiers,  and  Attendants. 

Gia.  Yes,  indeed,  sir,  I  do  feel  a  savour  as  pleasant  as 
— a  glister-pipe2  {Aside\ — calamus,  or  civet. 

Duke.  Observe  him,  and  be  silent. 

Man.  Hold  thou  the  glass,  GiacOpo,  and  mark  me 
with  what  exceeding  comeliness  I  could  court  the  lady 
marquess,  if  it  come  to  the  push. 

1  Bristle  up  :  a  west  country  word.  -  Enema  syringe. 


SCENE  i .]  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  307 

Duke.  Sister,  you  are  his  aim. 

Fior,  A  subject  fit 

To  be  the  stale  of  laughter  ! l 

Bian.  That's  your  music. 

Mau.  Thus  I  reverse  my  pace,  and  thus  stalking  in 
courtly  gait,  I  advance  one,  two,  and  three. — Good  !  I 
kiss  my  hand,  make  my  congee,  settle  my  countenance, 
and  thus  begin. — Hold  up  the  glass  higher,  Giacopo. 

Gia.  Thus  high,  sir  ? 

Mau.  Tis  well ;  now  mark  me. 

"  Most  excellent  marquess,  most  fair  la-dy, 
Let  not  old  age  or  hairs  that  are  sil-ve'r 
Disparage  my  desire ;  for  it  may  be 

I  am  than  other  green  youth  nimble-er. 
Since  I  am  your  gra-c^'s  servant  so  true, 
Great  lady,  then,  love  me  for  my  vir-tue." 

O,  Giacopo,  Petrarch  was  a  dunce,  Dante  a  jig-maker, 
Sanazzar  a  goose,  and  Ariosto  a  puck-fist,2  to  me !  I 
tell  thee,  Giacopo,  I  am  rapt  with  fury ;  and  have  been 
for  these  six  nights  together  drunk  with  the  pure  liquor 
of  Helicon. 

Gia.  I  think  no  less,  sir;  for  you  look  as  wild,  and 
talk  as  idly,  as  if  you  had  not  slept  these  nine  years. 

Duke.  What  think  you  of  this  language,  sister  ? 

Fior.  Sir, 

I  think  in  princes'  courts  no  age  nor  greatness 
But  must  admit  the  fool ;  in  me  'twere  folly 
To  scorn  what  greater  states 3  than  I  have  been. 

Bian.  O,  but  you  are  too  general — 

Fi;'r.  A  fool ! 

I  thank  your  highness  :  many  a  woman's  wit 
Have  thought  themselves  much  better  was  much  worse. 

Bian.  You  still  mistake  me. 

1    I.aujjliinjj  slock. 

-  /.,:  An  cmntv  biustcr,  fiom  the  fungus  better  known  as  i  uff- 
ball 

1  'a.-<:n  ;  of  state. 


3o8  L  O  VE '  S  SA  CRIFICE.  [ACT  n. 

Duke.  Silence  !  note  the  rest. 

Man.  God-a'mercy,  brains  !  Giacopo,  I  have  it. 

Gia.  What,  my  lord  ? 

Mau.  A  conceit,  Giacopo,  and  a  fine  one — down  on 
thy  knees,  Giacopo,  and  worship  my  wit.  Give  me  both 
thy  ears.  Thus  it  is ;  I  will  have  my  picture  drawn  most 
composituously,  in  a  square  table l  of  some  two  foot 
long,  from  the  crown  of  the  head  to  the  waist  downward, 
no  further. 

Gia.  Then  you'll  look  like  a  dwarf,  sir,  being  cut  off 
by  the  middle. 

Man.  Speak  not  thou,  but  wonder  at  the  conceit  that 
follows.  In  my  bosom,  on  my  left  side,  I  will  have  a  leaf 
of  blood-red  crimson  velvet — as  it  were  part  of  my 
doublet — open;  which  being  opened,  Giacopo, — now 
mark  ! — I  will  have  a  clear  and  most  transparent  crystal 
in  the  form  of  a  heart.— Singular-admirable  ! — When  I 
have  framed  this,  I  will,  as  some  rare  outlandish  piece  of 
workmanship,  bestow  it  on  the  most  fair  and  illustrious 
Lady  Fiormonda. 

Gia.  But  now,  sir,  for  the  conceit. 

Mau.  Simplicity  and  ignorance,  prate  no  more  !  block 
head,  dost  not  understand  yet  ?  Why,  this  being  to 
her  instead  of  a  looking-glass,  she  shall  no  oftener 
powder  her  hair,  surfel 2  her  cheeks,  cleanse  her  teeth,  or 
conform  the  hairs  of  her  eyebrows,  but  having  occasion 
to  use  this  glass — which  for  the  rareness  and  richness  of 
it  she  will  hourly  do — but  she  shall  as  often  gaze  on  my 
picture,  remember  me,  and  behold  the  excellence  of  her 
excellency's  beauty  in  the  prospective  and  mirror,  as  it 
were,  in  my  heart. 

Gia.  Ay,  marry,  sir,  this  is  something. 

1  The  board  or  canvas  on  which  the  picture  was  to  be  painted. 

~  To  "surfel"  or  "surphule"  the  cheeks  is  to  wash  them  with 
mercurial  or  sulphur  water,  as  it  was  called,  one  of  those  pernicious 
compounds  which,  under  the  name  of  cosmetics,  touncl  their  way  to 
the  ladies'  toilets.  They  were  generally  rubbed  in  with  Spanish 
wool  or  a  piece  of  scarlet  cloth. — Gifford. 


SCENE  i.]          LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  309 

All  above  except  Fior.  Ha,  ha,  ha !    \Exit  FIORMONDA. 

Bian.  My  sister's  gone  in  anger. 

Man.  Who's  that  laughs?  search  with  thine  eyes, 
Giacopo. 

Gia.  O,  my  lord,  my  lord,  you  have  gotten  an  ever 
lasting  fame!  the  duke's  grace,  and  the  duchess'  grace, 
and  my  Lord  Fernando's  grace,  with  all  the  rabble  of 
courtiers,  have  heard  every  word  ;  look  where  they  stand  ! 
Now  you  shall  be  made  a  count  for  your  wit,  and  i  lord 
for  my  counsel. 

Duke.  Beshrew  the  chance  !  we  are  discovered. 

Mau.  Pity — 0,  my  wisdom  !  I  must  speak  to  them. — 
O,  duke  most  great,  and  most  renowned  duchess  ! 
Excuse  my  apprehension,  which  not  much  is  ; 
'Tis  love,  my  lord,  that's  all  the  hurt  you  see  ; 
Angelica  herself  doth  plead  for  me. 

Duke.  We  pardon  you,  most  wise  and  learned  lord ; 
And,  that  we  may  all  glorify  your  wit, 
Entreat  your  wisdom's  company  to-day 
To  grace  our  table  with  your  grave  discourse  : 
What  says  your  mighty  eloquence  ? 

Mau.  Giacopo,  help  me;  _his  grace  has  put  me  out 
of  my  own  bias,  and  I  know  not  what  to  answer  in 
form. 

Gia.  Ud's  me,  tell  him  you'll  come. 

Mau.  Yes,  I  will  come,  my  lord  the  duke,  I  will. 

Duke.  We   take   your   word,  and   wish  your   honour 

health.— 

Away,  then  !  come,  Bianca,  we  have  found 
A  salve  for  melancholy, — mirth  and  ease. 

\_Exit  the  T)\&Q  followed  by  all  but  BIANCA 
and  FERNANDO. 

Bian.  I'll  see  the  jolly  lover  and  his  glass 
Take  leave  of  one  another. 

Mau.  Are  they  gone? 

Gia.  O,  my  lord,  I  do  now  smell  news. 

Mau.  What  news,  Giacopo  ? 


310  LOVE'S  SA  CRIFICE.  [ACT  II. 

Gia.  The  duke  has  a  smackering  towards  you,  and  you 
shall  clap-up  with  his  sister  the  widow  suddenly. 

Man.  She  is  mine,  Giacopo,  she  is  mine !  Advance 
the  glass,  Giacopo,  that  I  may  practise,  as  I  pass,  to  walk 
a  portly  grace  like  a  marquis,  to  which  degree  I  am  now 
a-climbing. 

Thus  do  we  march  to  honour's  haven  of  bliss, 

To  ride  in  triumph  through  Persepolis.1 

\_Exit  GIACOPO,  going  backward  with  tlie  glass, 
followed  by  MAURUCCIO  complimenting.'1 

.Bian.  Now,  as  I  live,  here's  laughter 
Worthy  our  presence !     I'll  not  lose  him  so.  [Going. 

Fern.  Madam, — 

Bian.  To  me,  my  lord  ? 

Fern.  Please' but  to  hear 

The  story  of  a  castaway  in  love ; 
And,  O,  let  not  the  passage  of  a  jest 
Make  slight  a  sadder  subject,  who  hath  placed 
All  happiness  in  your  diviner  eyes  ! 

Bian.  My  lord,  the  time — 

Fern.  The  time !  yet  hear  me  speak 

For  I  must  speak  or  burst :  I  have  a  soul 
So  anchored  down  with  cares  in  seas  of  woe, 
That  passion  and  the  vows  I  owe  to  you 
Have  changed  me  to  a  lean  anatomy  :! 
Sweet  princess  of  my  life, — 

Bian.  Forbear,  or  I  shall-  - 

Fern.  Yet,  as  you  honour  virtue,  do  not  freeze 
My  hopes  to  more  discomfort  than  as  yet 
My  fears  suggest ;  no  beauty  so  adorns 
The  composition  of  a  well-built  mind 
As  pity  :  hear  me  out. 

Bian.  No  more !  I  spare 

To  tell  you  what  you  are,  and  must  confess 

1  Mauruccio  is  here  quoting  Marlowe's  Tambttrlaine. 
z  i.e.  Practising  the  airs  of  a  courtier. 
s  Skeleton. 


SCENE  ii.]          LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  3 1 1 

Do  almost  hate  my  judgment,  that  it  once 

Thought  goodness  dwelt  in  you.     Remember  now, 

It  is  the  third  time  since  your  treacherous  tongue 

Hath  pleaded  treason  to  my  ear  and  fame ; 

Yet,  for  the  friendship  'twixt  my  lord  and  you, 

I  Jiave  not  voiced  your  follies  :  if  you  dare 

To  speak  a  fourth  time,  you  shall  rue  your  lust ; 

'Tis  all  no  better  : — learn  and  love  yourself.  [£xif. 

Fern.  Gone  !'  O,  my  sorrows !  how  am  I  undone ! 
Not  speak  again  ?  no,  no,  in  her  chaste  breast 
Virtue  and  resolution  have  discharged 
All  female  weakness :  I  have  sued  and  sued, 
Knelt,   wept,   and   begged;    but    tears   and   vows    and 

words 

Move  her  no  more  than  summer-winds  a  rock. 
I  must  resolve  to  check  this  rage  of  blood, 
And  will :  she  is  all  icy  to  my  fires, 
Yet  even  that  ice  inflames  in  me  desires.  \Exit. 


SCENE  II.— A  Room  in  PETRUCHIO'S  House. 
Enter  PETRUCHIO  and  ROSEILLI. 

Rose.  Is't  possible  the  duke  should  be  so  moved  ? 

Pet.  'Tis  true ;  you  have  no  enemy  at  court 
But  her  for  whom  you  pine  so  much  in  love ; 
Then  master  your  affections  :  I  am  sorry 
You  hug  your  ruin  so. — 
What  say  you  to  the  project  I  proposed  ? 

Rose.  I  entertain  it  with  a  greater  joy 
Than  shame  can  check. 

Enter  FERNANDO. 

Pet.  You're  come  as  I  could  wish 

My  cousin  is  resolved. 


312  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  n . 

Fern.  Without  delay 

Prepare  yourself,  and  meet  at  court  anon, 
Some  half-hour  hence ;  and  Cupid  bless  your  joy  ! 

Rose.  If  ever  man  was  bounden  to  a  friend,  — 

Fern.  No  more  ;  away  ! 

{Exeunt  PETRUCHIO  and  ROSEILU. 

Love's  rage  is  yet  unknown  ; 
In  his — ay  me  ! — too  well  I  feel  my  own  ! — 
So,  now  I  am  alone ;  now  let  me  think. 
She  is  the  duchess  ;  say  she  be ;  a  creature 
Sewed-up  in  painted  cloth  might  so  be  styled ; 
That's  but  a  name  :  she's  married  too ;  she  is, 
And  therefore  better  might  distinguish  love  : 
She's  young  and  fair ;  why,  madam,  that's  the  bait 
Invites  me  more  to  hope  :  she's  the  duke's  wife  ; 
Who  knows  not  this  ? — she's  bosomed  to  my  friend  ; 
There,  there,  I  am  quite  lost :  will  not  be  won  ; 
Still  worse  and  worse  :  abhors  to  hear  me  speak  ; 
Eternal  mischief !  I  must  urge  no  more  ; 
For,  were  I  not  be-lepered  in  my  soul, 
Here  were  enough  to  quench  the  flames  of  hell. 
What- then?  pish  !  if  I  must  not  speak,  I'll  write. 
Come,  then,  sad  secretary  to  my  plaints, 
Plead  thou  my  faith,  for  words  are  turned  to  sighs. 
Wrhat  says  this  paper?  [Takes  out  a  letter,  and  reads. 

Enter  D'AvOLOS  behind  with  two  pictures. 

D'Av.  \Aside\  Now  is  the  time.  Alone?  reading  a 
letter  ?  good  ;  how  now  !  striking  his  breast !  what,  in  the 
name  of  policy,  should  this  mean  ?  tearing  his  hair  ! 
passion  ;  by  all  the  hopes  of  my  life,  plain  passion  !  now 
I  perceive  it.  If  this  be  not  a  fit  of  some  violent  affec 
tion,  I  am  an  ass  in  understanding  ;  why,  'tis  plain, — • 
plainer  and  plainer ;  love  in  the  extremest.  O,  for  the 
party  who,  now  !  The  greatness  of  his  spirits  is  too  high 
cherished  to  be  caught  with  some  ordinary  stuff,  and  if  it 
be  my  Lady  Fiormonda,  I  am  strangely  mistook.  Well, 


SCENE  II.]          L O  VE ' S  SA  CRIF1CE.  313 

that  I  have  fit  occasion  soon  to  understand.  I  have  here 
two  pictures  newly  drawn,  to  be  sent  for  a  present  to  the 
Abbot  of  Monaco,  the  duchess'  uncle,  her  own  and  my 
lady's  :  I'll  observe  which  of  these  may,  perhaps,  bewray 
him — 'he  turns  about. — My  noble  lord ! — 

Fern.  You're  welcome,  sir ;  I  thank  you. 

D'Av.  Me,  my  lord  !  for  what,  my  lord  ? 

fern.  Who's  there  ?  I  cry  you  mercy,  D'Avolos, 
I  took  you  for  another  ;  pray,  excuse  me. 
What  is't  you  bear  there  ? 

D'Av.  No  secret,  my  lord,  but  may  be  imparted  to 
you :  a  couple  of  pictures,  my  good  lord, — please  you  see 
them  ? 

Fern.  I  care  not  much  for  pictures;   but  whose  are 
they? 

D'Av.  The  one  is  for  my  lord's  sister,  the  other  is  the 
duchess. 

Fern.  Ha,  D'Avolos  !  the  duchess's  ? 

D'Av.  Yes,  my  lord. — [Aside]  Sure,  the  word  startled 
him  :  observe  that. 

Fern.  You  told  me,  Master  Secretary,  once, 
You  owed  me  love. 

D'Av.  Service,  my  honoured  lord ;  howsoever  you 
please  to  term  it. 

Fern.  'Twere  rudeness  to  be  suitor  for  a  sight ; 
Yet  trust  me,  sir,  I'll  be  all  secret. 

D* Av.  I  beseech  your  lordship  ; — they  are,  as  I  am, 
constant  to  your  pleasure.  \Shows  FIORMONDA'S  picture^ 
This,  my  lord,  is  the  widow  marquess's,  as  it  now  newly 
came  from  the  picture-drawer's,  the  oil  yet  green  :  a  sweet 
picture;  and,  in  my  judgment,  art  hath  not  been  a  niggard 
in  striving  to  equal  the  life.  Michael  Angelo  himself 
needed  not  blush  to  own  the  workmanship. 

Fern.  A  very  pretty  picture  ;  but,  kind  signior, 
To  whose_use  is  it? 

D'Av.  For  the  duke's,  my  lord,  who  determines  to 
send  it  with  all  speed  as  a  present  to  Paul  Baglione,  uncle 


3 H  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  II. 

to  the  duchess,  that  he  may  see  the  riches  of  two  such 
lustres  as  shine  in  the  court  of  Pavy. 

Fern.  Pray,  sir,  the  other? 

D'Av.  [Shows  BIANCA'S  picture}  This,  my  lord,  is  for 
the  duchess  Bianca:  a  wondrous  sweet  picture,  if  you 
well  observe  with  what  singularity  the  artsman  hath 
strove  to  set  forth  each  limb  in  exquisitest  proportion,  not 
missing  a  hair. 

Fern.  A  hair  ! 

D'Av.  She  cannot  more  formally,  or — if  it  may  be 
lawful  to  use  the  word — more  really,  behold  her  own 
symmetry  in  her  glass  than  in  taking  a  sensible  view  of 
this  counterfeit.  When  I  first  saw  it,  I  verily  almost  was 
of  a  mind  that  this  was  her  very  lip. 

fern.  Lip  ! 

D'Av.  [Aside]  How  constantly  he  dwells  upon  this 
portraiture  ! — Nay,  I'll  assure  your  lordship  there  is  no 
defect  of  cunning2 — [Aside]  His  eye  is  fixed  as  if  it  were 
incorporated  there. — Were  not  the  party  herself  alive  to 
witness  that  there  is  a  creature  composed  of  flesh  and 
blood  as  naturally  enriched  with  such  harmony  of  admi 
rable  beauty  as  is  here  artificially  counterfeited,  a  very 
curious  eye  might  repute  it  as  an  imaginary  rapture  of" 
some  transported  conceit,  to  aim  at  an  impossibility ; 
whose  very  first  gaze  is  of  force  almost  to  persuade  a  sub 
stantial  love  in  a  settled  heart. 

Fern.  Love !  heart ! 

D'Av.  My  honoured  lord, — 

Fern.  O  Heavens  ! 

D'Av.  [Aside]  I  am  confirmed. — What  ails  your 
lordship  ? 

fern.  You  need  not  praise  it,   sir;   itself  is  praise. — 
[Aside]  How  near  had   I  forgot  myself! — I  thank  you. 
'Tis  such  a  picture  as  might  well  become 
The  shrine  of  some  famed  Venus  ;  I  am  dazzled 
With  looking  on't : — pray,  sir,  convey  it  hence. 

1  Skill. 


SCENE  II .]  LOVERS  SA CRIFICE.  3 1 5 

D'Av.  I  am  all  your  servant. — [Aside]  Blessed,  blessed 
discovery  ! — Please  you  to  command  me  ? 

Fern.  No,  gentle    sir. — [Aside]    I'm   lost  beyond  my 

senses. — 
D'ye  hear,  sir  ?  good,  where  dwells  the  picture-maker  ? 

D'Av.  By  the  castle's  farther  drawbridge,  near  Gali- 
azzo's  statue ;  his  name  is  Alphonso  Trinultio. — [Aside] 
Happy  above  all  fate  ! 

Fern.    You   say   enough ;    my   thanks   t'ye !       [Exit 

D'AVOLOS.] — Were  that  picture 
But  rated  at  my  lordship,  'twere  too  cheap. 
I  fear  I  spoke  or  did  I  know  not  what ; 
All  sense  of  providence  was  in  mine  eye. 

Enter  FERENTES,  MAURUCCIO,  and  GIACOPO. 

Feren.  [Aside]  Youth  in  threescore  years  and  ten  ! — 
Trust  me,  my  Lord  Mauruccio,  you  are  now  younger  in 
the  judgment  of  those  that  compare  your  former  age  with 
your  latter  by  seven-and-twenty  years  than  you  were 
three  years  ago :  by  all  my  fidelity,  'tis  a  miracle !  the 
ladies  wonder  at  you. 

Mau.  Let  them  wonder;  I  am  wise  as  I  am  courtly. 

Gia.  The  ladies,  my  lord,  call  him  the  green  broom 
of  the  court, — he  sweeps  all  before  him, — and  swear  he 
has  a  stabbing  wit :  it  is  a  very  glister  to  laughter. 

Mau.  Nay,  I  know  I  can  tickle  'em  at  my  pleasure ;  I 
am  stiff  and  strong,  Ferentes. 

Gia.  [Aside]  A  radish-root  is  a  spear  of  steel  in  com 
parison  of  I  know  what. 

Feren.  The  marquess  doth  love  you. 

Mau.  She  doth  love  me. 

Feren.  And  begins  to  do  you  infinite  grace,  Mauruccio, 
infinite  grace. 

Fern.  I'll  take  this  time. — \_Comes  forward}  Good 
hour,  my  lords,  to  both  ! 

Mau.  Right  princely  Fernando,  the  best  of  the  Fer- 
nandos ;  by  the  pith  of  generation,  the  man  I  look  for. 


316  LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  [ACT  II. 

His  highness  hath  sent  to  find  you  out :  he  is  determined 
to  weather  his  own    proper  individual   person  for  two 
days'  space  in  my  Lord  Nibrassa's  forest,  to  hunt  the 
deer,  the  buck,  the  roe,  and  eke  the  barren  doe. 
Fern.  Is  his  highness  preparing  to  hunt  ? 
Man.  Yes,  my  lord,  and  resolved  to  lie  forth  for  the 
breviating  the  prolixity  of  some  superfluous  transmigra 
tion  of  the  sun's  double  cadence  to  the  western  horizon, 
my  most  perspicuous  good  lord. 

Fern.  O,  sir,  let  me  beseech  you  to  speak  in  your  own 
mother  tongue. —  \_Aside~\  Two  days'  absence,  well. — My 
Lord  Mauruccio,  I  have  a  suit  t'ye, — 

Mau.  My  Lord  Fernando,  I  have  a  suit  to  you. 
Fern.  That  you  will   accept  from  me  a  very  choice 
token  of  my  love  :  will  you  grant  it  ? 
Mau.  Will  you  grant  mine  ? 
Fern.  What  is't  ? 

Mau.  Only  to  know  what  the  suit  is  you  please  to 
prefer  to  me. 

Fern.  Why,  'tis,  my  lord,  a  fool. 
Mau.  A  fool ! 

Fern.  As  very  a  fool  as  your  lordship  is — hopeful  to 
see  in  any  time  of  your  life. 

Gia.  Now,  good  my  lord,  part  not  with  the  fool  on 
any  terms. 

Mau.  I  beseech  you,  my  lord,  has  the  fool  qualities  ? 
Fern.  Very  rare  ones :  you  shall  not  hear  him  speak 
one  wise  word  in  a  month's  converse ;  passing  temperate 
of  diet,  for,  keep  him  from  meat  four-and-twenty  hours, 
and  he  will  fast  a  whole  day  and  a  night  together  ;  unless 
you  urge  him  to  swear,  there  seldom  comes  an  oath  from 
his  mouth  ;  and  of  a  fool,  my  lord,  to  tell  ye  the  plain 
truth,  had  he  but  half  as  much  wit  as  you,  my  lord,  he 
would  be  in  short  time  three-quarters  as  arrant  wise  as 
your  lordship. 

Mau.  Giacopo,  these  are  very  rare  elements  in  a  crea 
ture  of  little  understanding.  O,  that  I  long  to  see  him  ! 


sc ENE  II.]  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  3 1 7 

Fern.  A  very  harmless  idiot ; — and,  as  you  could  wish, 
look  where  he  comes. 

Enter  PETRUCHIO,  0tf</RosEiLLi  dressed  like  a  Fool.1 

Pet.  Nephew,  here  is  the  thing  you  sent  for. — Come 
hither,  fool ;  come,  'tis  a  good  fool. 

Fern.  Here,  my  lord,  I  freely  give  you  the  fool ;  pray 
use  him  well  for  my  sake. 

Mau.  I  take  the  fool  most  thankfully  at  your  hands, 
my  lord. — Hast  any  qualities,  my  pretty  fool  ?  wilt  dwell 
with  me  ? 

Ros.  A,  a,  a,  a,  ay. 

Pet.  I  never  beheld  a  more  natural  creature  in  my 
life. 

Fern.  Uncle,  the  duke,  I  hear,  prepares  to  hunt ; 
Let's  in  and  wait.— Farewell,  Mauruccio. 

\Exeunt  FERNANDO  and  PETRUCHIO. 

Mau.  Beast  that  J  am,  not  to  ask  the  fool's  name  !  'tis 
no  matter ;  fool  is  a  sufficient  title  to  call  the  greatest 
lord  in  the  court  by,  if  he  be  no  wiser  than  he. 

Gia.  O,  my  lord,  what  an  arrant  excellent  pretty  crea 
ture  'tis  ! — Come,  honey,  honey,  honey,  come  ! 

Fcren.  You  are  beholding  to  my  Lord  Fernando  for 
this  gift. 

Mau.  True.  O,  that  he  could  but  speak  methodically  ! 
— Canst  speak,  fool  ? 

Ros.  Can  speak  ;  de  e  e  e — 

Feren.  Tis  a  present  for  an  emperor.  What  an  excel 
lent  instrument  were  this  to  purchase  a  suit  or  a  mono 
poly  from  the  duke's  ear  ! 

Mau.  I  have  it,  I  am  wise  and  fortunate. — Giacopo,  I 
will  leave  all  conceits,  and  instead  of  my  picture,  offer 
the  lady  marquess  this  mortal  man  of  weak  brain. 

Gia.  My  lord,  you  have  most  rarely  bethought  you  ; 
for  so  shall  she  no  oftener  see  the  fool  but  she  shall 
remember  you  better  than  by  a  thousand  looking-glasses. 

1  i.e.  In  the  long  petticoats  with  which  innocents,  or  idiots,  were 
furnished  for  the  sake  of  decency. — Gifford. 


3 1 8  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  n, 

Fcren.  She  will  most  graciously  entertain  it. 

Man.  I  may  tell  you,  Ferentes,  there's  not  a  great 
woman  amongst  forty  but  knows  how  to  make  sport  with 
a  fool. — Dost  know  how  old  thou  art,  sirrah  ? 

Ros.  Dud  —  a  clap  cheek  for  nown  sake,  gaffer ; 
hee  e  e  e  e. 

Feren.  Alas,  you  must  ask  him  no  questions,  but  clap 
him  on  the  cheek ;  I  understand  his  language :  your  fool 
is  the  tender-heartedest  creature  that  is. 

Enter  FIORMONDA  and  D'AVOLOS  in  close  conversation. 

Fior.  No  more  ;  thou  hast  in  this  discovery 
Exceeded  all  my  favours,  D'Avolos. 
Is't  Mistress  Madam  Duchess  ?  brave  revenge  ! 

D 'Ai>.  But  had  your  grace  seen  the  infinite  appetite  of 
lust  in  the  piercing  adultery  of  his  eye,  you  would — 

Fior.     Or  change  him,  or  confound  him :'  prompt  dis 
sembler  ! 

Is  here  the  bond  of  his  religious  vow  ? 
And  that,  "  now  when  the  duke  is  rid  abroad, 
My  gentleman  will  stay  behind,  is  sick — or  so"  ? 

D'Av.  "Not  altogether  in  health ; " — it  was  the  excuse 
he  made. 

Man.  \Sccing  them~\  Most  fit  opportunity  !  her  grace 
comes  just  i'  the  nick ;  let  me  study. 

Feren.  Lose  no  time,  my  lord. 

Gia.  To  her,  sir. 

Mau.    Vouchsafe    to    stay   thy   foot,    most    Cynthian 
hue, 

And  from  a  creature  ever  vowed  thy  servant 
Accept  this  gift,  most  rare,  most  fine,  most  new ; 

The  earnest  penny  of  a  love  so  fervent. 

Fior.  What  means  the  jolly  youth  ? 

Mau.  Nothing,  sweet  princess,  but  only  to  present 
your  grace  with  this  sweet-faced  fool ;  please  you  to  accept 
him  to  make  you  merry:  I'll  assure  your  grace  he  is  a 
very  wholesome  fool. 


SCENE  II.]  L  O  VE '  S  SA  CRIFICE.  3 1 9 

Fior.  A  fool !  you  might  as  well  ha'  given  yourself. 
Whence  is  he? 

Man.  Now,  just  very  now,  given  me  out  of  special 
favour  by  the  Lord  Fernando,  madam. 

Fior.  By  him?  well,  I  accept  him ;  thank  you  for't: 
And,  in  requital,  take  that  toothpicker; 
'Tis  yours. 

Mau.  A  toothpicker !  I  kiss  your  bounty :  no  quibble 
now  ? — And,  madam, 

If  I  grow  sick,  to  make  my  spirits  quicker, 

I  will  revive  them  with  this  sweet  toothpicker. 

Fior.  Make  use  on't  as  you  list. — Here  D'Avolos, 
Take  in  the  fool. 

D 'Av.  Come,  sweetheart,  wilt  along  with  me  ? 

Ros.  U  u  umh, — u  u  mh, — wonnot,  wonnot — u  u  umh. 

Fior.  Wilt  go  with  me,  chick? 

Ros.  Will  go,  te  e  e — go  will  go — 

Fior.  Come  D'Avolos,  observe  to-night;  'tis  late: 
Or  I  will  win  my  choice,  or  curse  my  fate. 

\Exeunt  FIORMONDA,  ROSEILLI,  and 
D'AVOLOS. 

Feren.  This  was  wisely  done,  now.  'Sfoot,  you  pur 
chase  a  favour  from  a  creature,  my  lord,  the  greatest  king 
of  the  earth  would  be  proud  of. 

Mau.  Giacopo ! — 

Gia.  My  lord  ? 

Mau.  Come  behind  me,  Giacopo  :  I  am  big  with  con 
ceit,  and  must  be  delivered  of  poetry  in  the  eternal  com 
mendation  of  this  gracious  toothpicker :  —but,  first,  I  hold 
it  a  most  healthy  policy  to  make  a  slight  supper — 
k    For  meat's  the  food  that  must  preserve  our  lives, 

And  now's  the  time  when  mortals  whet  their  knives — 
on  thresholds,  shoe-soles,  cart-wheels,  &c. — Away,  Gia 
copo  !  \Exi'nnt. 


320  L  O  VE '  S  SA  CRIFICE.  [ACT  1 1 . 

SCENE  III.— The  Palace.     BIANCA'S  Apartment. 

Enter  COLON  A  with  lights,  BIANCA,  FIORMONDA,  JULIA, 
FERNANDO,  andD'AvoLOS;  COLON  A  places  the  lights 
on  a  table,  and  sets  down  a  chess-board. 

Bian.  'Tis  yet  but  early  night,  too  soon  to  sleep : 
Sister,  shall's  have  a  mate  at  chess  ? 

Fior.  A  mate  ! 

No,  madam,  you  are  grown  too  hard  for  me; 
My  Lord  Fernando  is  a  fitter  match. 

Bian.  He's  a  well-practised  gamester  :  well,  I  care  not 
How  cunning  soe'er  he  be. — To  pass  an  hour 
I'll  try  your  skill,  my  lord  :  reach  here  the  chess-board. 

D'Av.  [Aside]  Are  you  so  apt  to  try  his  skill,  rnadam 
duchess  ?  Very  good  ! 

Fern.  I  shall  bewray  too  much  my  ignorance, 
In  striving  with  your  highness  ;  'tis  a  game 
I  lose  at  still  by  oversight. 

* Bian.  Well,  well, 

I  fear  you  not;  let's  to't. 

Fior.  You  need  not,  madam. 

D'Av.  [Aside  to  FIORMONDA]  Marry,  needs  she  not; 
how  gladly  will  she  to't !  'tis  a  rook  to  a  queen  she 
heaves  a  pawn  to  a  knight's  place;  by'r  lady,  if  all  be 
truly  noted,  to  a  duke's  place ;  and  that's  beside  the 
play,  I  can  tell  ye.  [FERNANDO  and  BIANCA//^. 

Fior.  Madam,  I  must  entreat  excuse ;  I  feel 
The  temper  of  my  body  not  in  case 
To  judge  the  strife. 

Bian.  Lights  for  our  sister,  sirs  ! — 

Good  rest  t'ye ;  I'll  but  end  my  game  and  follow. 

Fior.  [Aside  to  D'AvoLOs]  Let  'em  have  time  enough; 

and,  as  thou  canst, 
Be  near  to  hear  their  courtship,  D'Avolos. 

D'Av.  [Aside  to  FIORMONDA]  Madam,  I  shall  observe 
'em  with  all  cunning  secrecy. 

Bian.  Colona,  attend  our  sister  to  her  chamber. 


SCENE  in.]          LOVE'S  SA  CRIFICE.  32  1 

Col.  I  shall,  madam. 


COLONA,  JULIA, 
and  D'AvoLOS. 

JBian.  Play. 

Fern.  I  must  not  lose  the  advantage  of  the  game  : 
Madam,  your  queen  is  lost, 

JBian.  My  clergy  help  me  ! 

My  queen  !  and  nothing  for  it  but  a  pawn  ? 
Why,  then,  the  .game's  lost  too  :  but  play. 

Fern.  What,  madam  ? 

\  [FERNANDO  often  looks  about. 

JBian.  You  must  needs  play  well,  you  are  so  studious.  — 
Fie  upon't  !  you  study  past  patience  :  — 
What  do  you  dream  on  ?  here  is  demurring 
Would  weary  out  a  statue  !  —  Good,  now,  play. 

Fern.  Forgive  me  ;    let  my  knees  for  ever  stick 

\Kneels. 

Nailed  to  the  ground,  as  earthy  as  my  fears, 
Ere  I  arise,  to  part  away  so  cursed 
In  my  unbounded  anguish  as  the  rage 
Of  flames  beyond  all  utterance  of  words 
Devour  me,  lightened  by  your  sacred  eyes. 

Bian.  What  means  the  man  ? 

Fern.  To  lay  before  your  feet 

In  lowest  vassalage  the  bleeding  heart 
That  sighs  the  tender  of  a  suit  disdained. 
Great  lady,  pity  me,  my  youth,  my  wounds  ; 
And  do  not  think  that  I  have  culled  this  time 
From  motion's  swiftest  measure  to  unclasp 
The  book  of  lust  :  if  purity  of  love 
Have  residence  in  virtue's  breast,  lo  here, 
Bent  lower  in  my  heart  than  on  my  knee, 
I  beg  compassion  to  a  love  as  chaste 
As  softness  of  desire  can  intimate. 

Re-enter  D'AVOLOS  behind. 
D'Av.   [Asidi\  At  it  already!  admirable  haste  ! 
Bian.  Am  I  again  betrayed  ?  bad  man  !  — 

Ford-  v 


322  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  n. 

Fern.  Keep  in 

Bright  angel,  that  severer  breath,  to  cool 
That  heat  of  cruelty  which  sways  the  temple 
Of  your  too.  stony  breast :  you  cannot  urge 
One  reason  to  rebuke  my  trembling  plea, 
Which  I  have  not  with  many  nights'  expense 
Examined  ;  but,  O,  madam,  still  I  find 
No  physic  strong  to  cure  a  tortured  mind, 
But  freedom  from  the  torture  it  sustains.  - 

D'Av.  \Aside\  Not  kissing  yet  ?  still  on  your  knees  ? 
O,  for  a  plump  bed  and  clean  sheets,  to  comfort  the 
aching  of  his  shins!  We  shall  have  'em  clip1  anon  and 
lisp  kisses ;  here's  ceremony  with  a  vengeance  ! 

Bian.  Rise  up  ;  we  charge  you,  rise  !  [He  rises. 

Look  on  our  face : 

What  see  you  there  that  may  persuade  a  hope 
Of  lawless  love  ?     Know,  most  unworthy  man, 
So  much  we  hate  the  baseness  of  thy  lust, . 
As,  were  none  living  of  thy  sex  but  thee, 
We  had  much  rather  prostitute  our  blood 
To  some  envenomed  serpent  than  admit 
Thy  bestial  dalliance.     Couldst  thou  dare  to  speak 
Again,  when  we  forbade?  no,  wretched  thing, 
Take  this  for  answer  :  if  thou  henceforth  ope 
Thy  leprous  mouth  to  tempt  our  ear  again, 
We  shall  not  only  certify  our  lord 
Of  thy  disease  in  friendship,  but  revenge 
Thy  boldness  with  the  forfeit  of  thy  life. 
Think  on't. 

D'  Av.  [_Aside\  Now,  now,  now  the  game  is  a-foot ! 
your  gray  jennet  with  the  white  face  is  curried,  forsooth  ; 
— please  your  lordship  leap  up  into  the  saddle,  forsooth. 
— Poor  duke,  how  does  thy  head  ache  now ! 

Fern.  Stay;  go  not  hence  in  choler,  blessed  woman  ! 
You've  schooled  me ;  lend  me  hearing :  though  the  float 
Of  infinite  desires  swell  to  a  tide 

1  Embrace. 


SCENE  in.]         LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  323 

Too  high  so  soon  to  ebb,  yet,  by  this  hand, 

\Kisses  her  hand. 
This  glorious,  gracious  hand  of  yours, — 

D'Av.  [Aside.]  Ay,  marry,  the  match  is  made;  clap 
hands  and  to't,  ho  ! 

Fern.  I  swear, 

Henceforth  I  never  will  as  much  in  word, 
In  letter,  or  in  syllable,  presume 
To  make  a  repetition  of  my  griefs. 
Good-night  t'ye !  If,  when  I  am  dead,  you  rip 
This  coffin  of  my  heart,  there  shall  you  read 
With  constant  eyes,  what  now  my  tongue  defines, 
Bianca's  name  carved  out  in  bloody  lines. 
For  ever,  lady,  now  good -night ! 

Bian.  Good-night ! 

Rest  in  your  goodness. — Lights  there  !— 

Enter  Attendants  with  lights. 

Sir,  good-night ! 
[Exeunt  BIANCA  and  FERNANDO  sundry  ways, 

with  Attendants.] 

D'Av.  So,  via ! — To  be  cuckold — mercy  and  provi 
dence — is  as  natural  to  a  married  man  as  to  eat,  sleep,  or 
wear  a  nightcap.  Friends  ! — I  will  rather  trust  mine  arm 
in  the  throat  of  a  lion,  my  purse  with  a  courtesan,  my 
neck  with  the  chance  on  a  die,  or  my  religion  in  a  syna 
gogue  of  Jews,  than  my  wife  with  a  friend.  Wherein  do 
princes  exceed  the  poorest  peasant  that  ever  was  yoked  to 
a  sixpenny  strumpet  but  that  the  horns  of  the  one  are 
mounted  some  two  inches  higher  by  a  choppine  J  than 

1  i.e.  Clogs  or  pattens,  of  cork  or  light  framework  covered  with 
leather,  and  worn  under  the  shoe.  The  practice  never  prevailed  in 
this  country,  but  seems  to  have  been  fashionable  at  Venice,  and 
places  where  walking  was  not  required,  for  which  choppines  were 
totally  unfit,  as  no  woman  could  drag  them  after  her ;  at  least,  if 
we  may  trust  Lessels,  who  says  that  he  has  often  seen  them  of  "a 
full  half-yard  high."  Ford's  choppine.?,  however,  are  of  a  very 
moderate  description,  and  do  not  teach  the  altitude  of  the  high- 
heeled  shoes  which  were  fashionable  in  this  country  in  the  last 
century.  They  derive  their  origin,  as  well  as  their  name,  from  Spain, 
the  region  of  cork. — Gifford. 


324  LOVE' S  SA CRIFfCE.  [ACT  n. 

the  other  ?  O  Actseon  !  the  goodliest-headed  beast  of  the 
forest  amongst  wild  cattle  is  a  stag ;  and  the  goodliest 
beast  among  tame  fools  in  a  corporation  is  a  cuckold. 

Re-enter  FIORMONDA. 

Fior.  Speak,  D'Avolos,  how  thrives  intelligence  ? 

D'Av.  Above  the  prevention  of  fate,  madam.  I  saw 
him  kneel,  make  pitiful  faces,  kiss  hands  and  forefingers, 
rise, — and  by  this  time  he  is  up,  up,  madam.  Doubtless 
the  youth  aims  to  be  duke,  for  he  is  gotten  into  the 
duke's  seat  an  hour  ago. 

Fior,  Is't  true  ? 

D'  AT.  Oracle,  oracle  !  Siege  was  laid,  parley  admitted, 
composition  offered,  and  the  fort  entered ;  there's  no 
interruption.  The  duke  will  be  at  home  to-morrow, 
gentle  animal  ! — what  d'ye  resolve  ? 

Fior.  To  stir-up  tragedies  as  black  as  brave, 

And  send  the  lecher  panting  to  his  grave.         {Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.—  A  Bedchamber  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  BIANCA,  her  hair  loose,  in  her  night-mantle.  She  draws 
a  curtain,  and  FERNANDO  is  discovered  in  bed,  sleep 
ing  ;  she  sets  down  the  candle,  and  goes  to  the  bedside. 

JBian.  Resolve,  and  do ;  'tis  done. — What !  are  those 

eyes, 

Which  lately  were  so  overdrowned  in  tears, 
So  easy  to  take  rest  ?     O  happy  man  ! 
How  sweetly  sleep  hath  sealed  up  sorrows  here  ! 
But  I  will  call  him. — What,  my  lord,  my  lord, 
My  Lord  Fernando  ! 

Fern.  Who  calls  me  ? 

Bian.      .  My  lord, 

Sleeping  or  waking? 

Fern.  Ha  !  who  is't  ? 


SCENE  iv.]          LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  325 

Bian.  'Tis  I : 

Have  you  forgot  my  voice  ?  or  is  your  ear 
But  useful  to  your  eye  ? 

Fern.  Madam,  the  duchess  ! 

Bian.  She,  'tis  she  ;  sit  up, 

Sit  up  and  wonder,  whiles  my  sorrows  swell : 
The  nights  are  short,  and  I  have  much  to  say. 

Fern.  Is't  possible  'tis  you  ? 

Bian.  'Tis  possible : 

Why  do  you  think  I  come  ? 

Fern.  Why  !  to  crown  joys, 

And  make  me  master  of  my  best  desires. 

Bian.  'Tis  true,  you  guess  aright ;  sit  up  and  listen. 
With  shame  and  passion  now  I  must  confess, 
Since  first  mine  eyes  beheld  you,  in  my  heart 
You  have  been  only  king  ;  if  there  can  be 
A  violence  in  love,  then  I  have  felt 
That  tyranny  :  be  record  to  my  soul 
The  justice  which  I  for  this  folly  fear  ! 
Fernando,  in  short  words,  howe'er  my  tongue 
Did  often  chide  thy  love,  each  word  thou  spak'st 
Was  music  to  my  ear ;  was  never  poor, 
Poor  wretched  woman  lived  that  loved  like  me, 
So  truly;  so  unfeignedly. 

Fern.  O,  madam  ! 

Bian.  To  witness  that  I  speak  is  truth,  look  here  ! 
Thus  singly '  I  adventure  to  thy  bed, 
And  do  confess  my  weakness  :  if  thou  tempt'st 
My  bosom  to  thy  pleasures,  I  will  yield. 

Fern.  Perpetual  happiness  ! 

Bian.  Now  hear  me  out. 

When  first  Caraffa,  Pavy's  duke,  my  lord, 
Saw  me,  he  loved  me ;  and  without  respect 
Of  dower  took  me  to  his  bed  and  bosom ; 
Advanced  me  to  the  titles  I  possess, 

1  In  allusion  probably  (as  GifforJ  pointed  out)  not  to  the  absence 
cf  attendants,  but  to  the  single  garment  in  which  she  was  clad. 


326  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  n. 

Not  moved  by  counsel  or  removed  by  greatness  ; 

Which  to  requite,  betwixt  my  soul  and  Heaven 

I  vowed  a  vow  to  live  a  constant  wife : 

I  have  done  so ;  nor  was  there  in  the  world 

A  man  created  could  have  broke  that  truth 

For  all  the  glories  of  the  earth  but  thou, 

But  thou,  Fernando  !     Do  I  love  thee  now  ? 

Fern.  Beyond  imagination. 

Bian.  True,  I  do, 

Beyond  imagination  :  if  no  pledge 
Of  love  can  instance  what  I  speak  is  true 
But  loss  of  my  best  joys,  here,  here,  Fernando, 
Be  satisfied  and  ruin  me. 

Fern.  What  d'ye  mean  ? 

Bian.  To  give  my  bo"dy  up  to  thy  embraces, 
A  pleasure  that  I  never  wished  to  thrive  in 
Before  this  fatal  minute.     Mark  me  now ; 
If  thou  dost  spoil  me  of  this  robe  of  shame, 
By  my  best  comforts,  here  I  vow  again, 
To  thee,  to  Heaven,  to  the  world,  to  time, 
Ere  yet  the  morning  shall  new-christen  day, 
I'll  kill  myself!- 

Fern.  How,  madam,  how  ! 

Bian.  I  will :     . 

Do  what  thou  wilt,  'tis  in  thy  choice  :  what  say  ye  ? 

Fern.  Pish !  do  you  come  to  try  me  ?  tell  me,  first, 
Will  you  but  grant  a  kiss  ? 

Bian.  Yes,  take  it ;  that, 

Or  what  thy  heart  can  wish  :  I  am  all  thine. 

[FERNANDO  kisses  her. 

Fern.  O,  me  ! — Come,  come  ;  how  many  women,  pray, 
Were  ever  heard  or  read  of,  granted  love, 
And  did  as  you  protest  you  will  ? 

Bian.  Fernando, 

Jest  not  at  my  calamity.     I  kneel :  \Kneels. 

By  these  dishevelled  hairs,  these  wretched  tears, 
By  all  that's  good,  if  what  I  speak  my  heart  . 


SCENE  iv.J          L O  VE ' S  SA  CRIFICE.  327 

Vows  not  eternally,  then  think,  my  lord, 

Was  never  man  sued  to  me  I  denied, — 

Think  me  a  common  and  most  cunning  whore ; 

And  let  my  sins  be  written  on  my  grave, 

My  name  rest  in  reproof!  [.ffww.] — Do  as  you  list. 

Fern.  I  must  believe  ye, — yet  I  hope l  anon, 
When  you  are  parted  from  me,  you  will  say 
I  was  a  good,  cold,  easy-spirited  man, 
Nay,  laugh  at  my  simplicity :  say,  will  ye  ? 

Bian.  No,  by  the  faith  I  owe  my  bridal  vows  ! 
But  ever  hold  thee  much,  much  dearer  far 
Than  all  my  joys  on  earth,  by  this  chaste  kiss. 

\Kisses  him. 

Fern.  You  have  prevailed ;  and  Heaven  forbid  that  I 
Should  by  a  wanton  appetite  profane 
This  sacred  temple !  'tis  enough  for  me 
You'll  please  to  call  me  servant. 

Bian.  Nay,  be  thine  : 

Command  my  power,  my  bosom  ;  and  I'll  write 
This  love  within  the  tables  of  my  heart. 

Fern.  Enough :  I'll  master  passion,  and  triumph 
In  being  conquered  ;  adding  to  it  this, 
In  you  my  love  as  it  begun  shall  end. 

Bian.  The  latter  I  new-vow.     But  day  comes  on ; 
What  now  we  leave  unfinished  of  content, 
Each  hour  shall  perfect  up  :  sweet,  let  us  part. 

Fern.  This  kiss, — best  life,  good  rest !          \Kisses  her. 

Bian.  All  mine  to  thee  ! 

Remember  this,  and  think  I  speak  thy  words ; 
"  When  I  am  dead,  rip  up  my  heart,  and  read 
With  constant  eyes,  what  now  my  tongue  defines, 
Fernando's  name  carved  out  in  bloody  lines." 
Once  more,  good  rest,  sweet ! 

Fern.  Your  most  faithful  servant ! 

{Exit  BIANCA — Scene  closes. 

1  Expect. 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 


SCENE  I. — An  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  NIBRASSA  chafing,  followed  by  JULIA  weeping. 

IB.    Get  from  me,  strumpet,  infamous 
whore,  leprosy  of  my  blood  !  make  thy 
moan  to  ballad-singers  and  rhymers ; 
they'll  jig-out   thy   wretchedness  and 
abominations  to  new  tunes  :  as  for  me, 
I  renounce  thee ;  thou'rt  no  daughter 
of  mine ;   I  disclaim  the  legitimation  of  thy  birth,  and 
curse  the  hour  of  thy  nativity. 
Jul.  Pray,  sir,  vouchsafe  me  hearing. 
Nib.    With  child  !   shame  to  my  grave  !     O,  whore, 
wretched  beyond  utterance  or  reformation,  what  wouldst 
say? 

Jul.  Sir,  by  the  honour  of  my  mother's  hearse, 
He  has  protested  marriage,  pledged  his  faith  ; 
If  vows  have  any  force,  I  am  his  wife. 

Nib.  His  faith  !  Why,  thou  fool,  thou  wickedly-cre 
dulous  fool,  canst  thou  imagine  luxury L  is  observant  of 
religion  ?  no,  no  ;  it  is  with  a  frequent  lecher  as  usual  to 
forswear  as  to  swear ;  their  piety  is  in  making  idolatry  a 
worship  ;  their  hearts  and  their  tongues  are  as  different 
as  thou,  thou  whore  !  and  a  virgin. 

Jul.  You  are  too  violent ;  his  truth  will  prove 
His  constancy,  and  so  excuse  my  fault. 

Nib.  Shameless  woman  !  this  belief  will  damn  thee. 
How  will  thy  lady  marquess  justly  reprove  me  for  prefer  - 

1  Lust. 


SCENE:.]  LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  329 

ring  to  her  service  a  monster  of  so  lewd  and  impudent  a 
life  !  Look  to't ;  if  thy  smooth  devil  leave  thee  to  thy 
infamy,  I  will  never  pity  thy  mortal  pangs,  never  lodge 
thee  under  my  roof,  never  own  thee  for  my  child  ;  mercy 
be  my  witness  ! 

Enter  PETRUCHIO,  leading  COLONA. 

Pet.  Hide  not  thy  folly  by  unwise  excuse, 
Thou  art  undone,  Colona  ;  no  entreaties, 
No  warning,  no  persuasion,  could  put  off 
The  habit  of  thy  dotage  on  that  man 
Of  much  deceit,  Ferentes.     Would  thine  eyes 
Had  seen  me  in  my  grave,  ere  I  had  known 
The  stain  of  this  thine  honour  ! 

Col.  Good  my  lord, 

Reclaim  your  incredulity :  my  fault 
Proceeds  from  lawful  composition 
Of  wedlock  ;  he  hath  sealed  his  oath  to  mine 
To  be  my  husband. 

Nib.  Husband  !  hey-day  !  is't  even  so  ?  nay,  then,  we 
have  partners  in  affliction :  if  my  jolly  gallant's  long 
clapper  have  struck  on  both  sides,  all  is  well. — Petnichio, 
thou  art  not  wise  enough  to  be  a  paritor  : *  come  hither, 
man,  come  hither ;  speak  softly  ;  is  thy  daughter  with 
child  ? 

Pet.  With  child,  Nibrassa ! 

Nib.  Foh !  do  not  trick  me  off ;  I  overheard  your 
gabbling.  Hark  in  thine  ear,  so  is  mine  too. 

Pet.  Alas,  my  lord,  by  whom  ? 

Nib.  Innocent !  by  whom  ?  what  an  idle  question  is 
that !  One  cock  hath  trod  both  our  hens  :  Ferentes, 
Ferentes  ;  who  else  ?  How  dost  take  it  ?  methinks  thou 
art  wondrous  patient :  why,  I  am  mad,  stark  mad. 

Pet.  How  like  you  this,  Colona  ?  'tis  too  true : 
Did  not  this  man  protest  to  be  your  husband  ? 

1  An  inferior  officer  who  summoned  delinquents  (including  prosti 
tutes)  to  a  spiritual  court. 


330  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  in. 

Col.  Ay  me  !  to  me  he  did. 

Nib.  What  else,  what  else,  Petruchio  ? — andj  madam, 
my  quondam  daughter,  I  hope  h'ave  passed  some  huge 
words  of  matrimony  to  you  too. 

Jul.  Alas  !  to  me  he  did. 

Nib.  And  how  many  more  the  great  incubus  of  hell 
knows  best. — Petruchio,  give  me  your  hand  ;  mine  own 
daughter  in  this  arm, — and  yours,  Colona,  in  this  : — 
there,  there,  sit  ye  down  together.  [JULIA  and  COLONA  sit 
down.]  Never  rise,  as  you  hope  to  inherit  our  blessings, 
till  you  have  plotted  some  brave  revenge ;  think  upon  it 
to  purpose,  and  you  shall  want  no  seconds  to  further  it ; 
be  secret  one  to  another. — Come,  Petruchio,  let  'em 
alone  :  the  wenches  will  demur  on't,  and  for  the  process 
we'll  give  'em  courage. 

Pet.  You  counsel  wisely ;  I  approve  your  plot. — Think 
on  your  shames,  and  who  it  was  that  wrought  'em. 

Nib.  Ay,  ay,  ay,  leave  them  alone. — To  work,  wenches, 
to  work  !  [Exeunt  NIBRASSA  and  PETRUCHIO. 

Col.  We  are  quite  ruined. 

Jul.  True,  Colona, 

Betrayed  to  infamy,  deceived,  and  mocked, 
By  an  unconstant  villain  :  what  shall's  do  ? 
I  am  with  child. 

Col.  Heigh-ho  !  and  so  am  I  : 

But  what  shall's  do  now  ? 

Jul.  This  :  with  cunning  words 

First  prove  his  love  ;  he  knows  I  am  with  child. 
Col.  And  so  he  knows  I  am  ;  I  told  him  on't 
Last  meeting  in  the  lobby,  and,  in  troth, 
The  false  deceiver  laughed. 

Jul.  Now,  by  the  stars, 

He  did  the  like  to  me,  and  said  'twas  well 
I  was  so  happily  sped. 

Col.  Those  very  words 

He  used  to  me  :  it  fretted  me  to  the  heart : 
I'll  be  revenged. 


SCENE  i. ]  LOVE'S  SA  ORIFICE.  3  3 1 

Jul.  Peace  !  here's  a  noise,  methinks. 

Let's  rise ;  we'll  take  a  time  to  talk  of  this. 

\They  rise,  and  walk  aside. 

Enter  FERENTES  and  MORONA. 

Feren.  Will  ye  hold  ?  death  of  my  delights,  have  ye 
lost  all  sense  of  shame  ?  You're  best  roar  about  the 
court  that  I  have  been  your  woman's-barber  and  trimmed 
ye,  kind  Morona. 

Mor.  Defiance  to  thy  kindness  !  thou'st  robbed  me  of 
my  good  name  ;  didst  promise  to  love  none  but  me,  me, 
only  me  ;  sworest  like  an  unconscionable  villain,  to  marry 
me  the  twelfth  day  of  the  month  two  months  since  ;  didst 
make  my  bed  thine  own,  mine  house  thine  own,  mine  all 
and  everything  thine  own.  I  will  exclaim  to  the  world 
on  thee,  and  beg  justice  of  the  duke  himself,  villain  !  I 
will. 

Feren.  Yet  again  ?  nay,  an  if  you  be  in  that  mood, 
shut  up  your  fore-shop,  I'll  be  your  journeyman  no 
longer.  Why,  wise  Madam  Dryfist,  could  your  mouldy 
brain  be  so  addle  to  imagine  I  would  marry  a  stale  widow 
at  six-and-forty  ?  Marry  gip !  are  there  not  varieties 
enough  of  thirteen  ?  come,  stop  your  clap-dish,1  or  I'll 
purchase  a  carting  for  you.  By  this  light,  I  have  toiled 
more  with  this  tough  carrion  hen  than  with  ten  quails 
scarce  grown  into  their  first  feathers. 

Mor.  O,  treason  to  all  honesty  or  religion  ! — Speak, 
thou  perjured,  damnable,  ungracious  defiler  of  women, 
who  shall  father  my  child  which  thou  hast  begotten  ? 

Feren.  Why,  thee,  countrywoman  ;  thou'st  a  larger 
purse  to  pay  for  the  nursing.  Nay,  if  you'll  needs  have 
the  world  know  how  you,  reputed  a  grave,  matron-like, 
motherly  madam,  kicked  up  your  heels  like  a  jennet  whose 
mark  is  new  come  into  her  mouth,  e'en  do,  do  1  the  worst 

1  Two  or  three  centuries  ago,  diseased  or  infectious  wretches 
wandered  up  and  down  with  a  clap-dish,  a  wooden  vessel  with  a 
movable  cover,  to  give  the  charitable  warning  at  once  of  their 
necessities  and  their  infectious  condition.—  Giffoni. 


332  LOVE-S  SACRIFICE.  [ACT  m. 

can  be  said  of  me  is,  that  I  was  ill  advised  to  dig  for  gold 
in  a  coal-pit.     Are  you  answered  ? 

Mor.  Answered  ! 

Jul.  Let's  fall   amongst   'em.     [Comes  forward  with 
COLONA] — Love,  how  is't,  chick  ?  ha  ? 

Col.  My  dear  Ferentes,  my  betrothed  lord  ! 

Feren.  \Aside\  Excellent !  O,  for  three  Barbary  stone- 
horses  to  stop  three  Flanders  mares  ! — Why,  how  now, 
wenches  !  what  means  this  ? 

Mor.  Out  upon  me  !  here's  more  of  his  trulls. 

Jul.  Love,  you  must  go  with  me. 

Col.  Good  love,  let's  walk. 

Feren.  [Aside]  I  must  rid  my  hands  of  'em,  or  they'll 
ride  on  my  shoulders. — By  your  leave,  ladies;  here's 
none  but  is  of  common  counsel  one  with  another ;  in 
short,  there  are  three  of  ye  with  child,  you  tell  me,  by  me. 
All  of  you  I  cannot  satisfy,  nor,  indeed,  handsomely  any 
of  ye.  You  all  hope  I  should  marry  you ;  which,  for  that 
itSs  impossible  to  be  done,  I  am  content  to  have  neither 
of  ye  :  for  your  looking  big  on  the  matter,  keep  your  own 
counsels,  I'll  not  bewray  ye  !  but  for  marriage, — Heaven 
bless  ye,  and  me  from  ye  I  This  is  my  resolution. 

Col.   How,  not  me  ! 
Jul.  Not  me ! 

Mor.  Not  me  ! 

Feren.  Nor  you,  nor  you,  nor  you  :  and  to  give  you 
some  satisfaction,  I'll  yield  ye  reasons. — You,  Colona, 
had  a  pretty  art  in  your  dalliance;  but  your  fault  was,  you 
were  too  suddenly  won. — You,  Madam  Morona,  could 
have  pleased  well  enough  some  three  or  four-and-thirty 
years  ago  ;  but  you  are  too  old. — You,  Julia,  were  young 
enough,  but  your  fault  is,  you  have  a  scurvy  face. — Now, 
everyone  knowing  her  proper  defect,  thank  me  that  I  ever 
vouchsafed  you  the  honour  of  my  bed  once  in  your  lives. 
If  you  want  clouts,  all  I'll  promise  is  to  rip  up  an  old 
shirt  or  two.  So,  wishing  a  speedy  deliverance  to  all 
your  burdens,  I  commend  you  to  your  patience.  [Exit. 


SCENE  II.]  LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  333 

Mor.  Excellent! 
Jul.  Notable ! 

Col.  Unmatched  villain  ! 

Jul.  Madam,  though  strangers,  yet  we  understand 
Your  wrongs  do  equal  ours  ;  which  to  revenge, 
Please  but  to  join  with  us,  and  we'll  redeem 
Our  loss  of  honour  by  a  brave  exploit. 

Mor.  I  embrace  your  motion,  ladies,  with  gladness, 
and  will  strive  by  any  action  to  rank  with  you  in  any 
danger. 

Col.  Come,  gentlewomen,  let's  together,  then. — 

Thrice  happy  maids  that  never  trusted  men  !    \Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. — The  State-room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  the  Duke,  BIANCA  supported  by  FERNANDO,  FIOR- 
MONDA,   PETRUCHIO,    NIBRASSA,    FERENTES,    and 
D'AvoLos. 

Duke.  Roseilli  will  not  come,  then  !  will  not  ?  well ; 
His  pride  shall  ruin  him. — Our  letters  speak 
The  duchess'  uncle  will  be  here  to-morrow,— 
To-morrow,  D'Avolos. 

D' Av.  To-morrow  night,  my  lord,  but  not  to  make 
more  than  one  day's  abode  here ;  for  his  Holiness  has 
commanded  him  to  be  at  Rome  the  tenth  of  this  month, 
the  conclave  of  cardinals  not  being  resolved  to  sit  till  his 
coming. 

Duke.  Your  uncle,  sweetheart,  at  his  next  return 
Must  be  saluted  cardinal. — Ferentes, 
Be  it  your  charge  to  think  on  some  device 
To  entertain  the  present1  with  delight. 

Fern.  My  lord,  in  honour  to  the  court  of  Pavy 
I'll  join  with  you.     Ferentes,  not  long  since 
I  saw  in  Brussels,  at  my  being  there, 

1  i.e.  The  present  time. 


334  LOVE'S  SA  CRIFICE.  [ACT  in . 

The  Duke  of  Brabant  welcome  the  Archbishop 

Of  Mentz  with  rare  conceit,  even  on  a  sudden, 

Performed  by  knights  and  ladies  of  his  court, 

In  nature  of  an  antic ; l  which  methought — 

For  that  I  ne'er  before  saw  women-antics — 

Was  for  the  newness  strange,  and  much  commended. 

Bian.  Now,  good  my  Lord  Fernando,  further  this 
In  any  wise  ;  it  cannot  but  content. 

Fior.  [Aside]  If  she  entreat,  'tis  ten  to  one  the  man 
Is  won  beforehand. 

Duke.  Friend,  thou  honour'st  me  : 

But  can  it  be  so  speedily  performed  ? 

Fern.   I'll  undertake  it,  if  the  ladies  please, 
To  exercise  in  person  only  that : 
And  we  must  have  a  fool,  or  such  an  one 
As  can  with  art  well  act  him. 

Fior.  I  shall  fit  ye ; 

I  have  a  natural.2 

Fern.  Best  of  all,  madam  : 

Then  nothing  wants. — You  must  make  one,  Ferentes. 

Feren.  With  my  best  service  and  dexterity, 
My  lord. 

Pet.  [Aside  to  NIBRASSA]  This  falls  out  happily,  Ni- 
brassa. 

Nib.  [Aside  to   PETRUCHIO]    We  could   not   wish   it 

better : 
Heaven  is  an  unbribed  justice. 

Duke.  We'll  meet  our  uncle  in  a  solemn  grace 
Of  zealous  presence,  as  becomes  the  church  : 
See  all  the  choir  be  ready,  D'Avolos. 

D'Av.  I  have   already  made  your  highness'  pleasure 
known  to  them. 

Bian.  Your  lip,  my  lord  ! 

Fern.  Madam? 

1  i.e.  Of   an    anti-masque,  which   was    always  of    a   burlesque 
character. 

2  An  idiot. 


SCENE  1 1 .]  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  335 

Bian.  Perhaps  your  teeth  have  bled :  wipe't  with  my 
handkercher  :  give  me,  I'll  do't  myself. — {Aside  to  FER 
NANDO]  Speak,  shall  I  steal  a  kiss  ?  believe  me,  my  lord, 
I  long. 

Fern.  Not  for  the  world. 

Fior.  \Aside\  Apparent  impudence  ! 

D'Av.  Beshrew  my  heart,  but  that's  not  so  good. 

Duke.  Ha,  what's  that  thou  mislikest,  D'AvoIos  ? 

D'Av.  Nothing,  my  lord ; — but  I  was  hammering  a 
conceit  of  my  own,  which  cannot,  I  find,  in  so  short  a 
time  thrive  as  a  day's  practice. 

Fior.   [Aside]  Well  put  off,  secretary. 

Duke.  We  are  too  sad  ;  methinks  the  life  of  mirth 
Should  still  be  fed  where  we  are :  where's  Mauruccio  ? 

Feren.  An't  please  your  highness,  he's  of  late  grown 
so  affectionately  inward  with  my  lady  marquess's  fool, 
that  I  presume  he  is  confident  there  are  few  wise  men 
worthy  of  his  society,  who  are  not  as  innocently  harmless 
as  that  creature.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  separate 
them,  and  'tis  a  question  which  of  the  two  is  the  wiser 
man. 

Duke.  'Would  he  were  here !  I  have  a  kind  of  dul- 

ness 

Hangs  on  me  since  my  hunting,  that  I  feel 
As  'twere  a  disposition  to  be  sick  ; 
My  head  is  ever  aching. 

D'Av.  A  shrewd  ominous  token ;  I  like  not  that 
neither. 

Duke.  Again  !  what  is't  you  like  not  ? 

D'Av.  I  beseech  your  highness  excuse  me ;  I  am  so 
busy  with  this  frivolous  project,  and  can  bring  it  to  no 
shape,  that  it  almost  confounds  my  capacity. 

Bian.  My  lord,  you  were  best  to  try  a  set  at  maw.1 
I  and  your  friend,  to  pass  away  the  time, 
Will  undertake  your  highness  and  your  sister. 

1  A  game  which  bore  apparently  some  icsemblance  to  "  reversi," 
a  burlesque  of  whist. 


336  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  m . 

Duke.  The  game's  too  tedious. 

Fior.  'Tis  a  peevish  play  ; 

Your  knave  will  heave  the  queen  out  or  your  king ; 
Besides,  'tis  all  on  fortune. 

Enter  MAURUCCIO  with  ROSEILLI  disguised  as  before,  and 
GIACOPO. 

Mau.  Bless  thee,  most  excellent  duke  !  I  here  present 
thee  as  worthy  and  learned  a  gentleman  as  ever  I — and 
yet  I  have  lived  threescore  years — conversed  with.  Take 
it  from  me,  I  have  tried  him,  and  he  is  worthy  to  be  privy- 
counsellor  to  the  greatest  Turk  in  Christendom ;  of  a  most 
apparent  and  deep  understanding,  slow  of  speech,  but 
speaks  to  the  purpose. — Come  forward,  sir,  and  appear 
before  his  highness  in  your  own  proper  elements. 

Ros.  Will — tye — to  da  new  toate  sure  la  now. 

Gia.  A  very  senseless  gentleman,  and,  please  your 
highness,  one  that  has  a  great  deal  of  little  wit,  as  they 
say. 

Mau.  O,  sir,  had  you  heard  him,  as  I  did,  deliver  whole 
histories  in  the  Tangay  tongue,  you  would  swear  there 
were  not  such  a  linguist  breathed  again ;  and  did  I  but 
perfectly  understand  his  language,  I  would  be  confident 
in  less  than  two  hours  to  distinguish  the  meaning  of  bird, 
beast,  or  fish  naturally  as  I  myself  speak  Italian,  my  lord. 
Well,  he  has  rare  qualities  ! 

Duke.  Now,  prithee,  question  him,  Mauruccio. 

Mau.  I  will,  my  lord. — 

Tell  me,  rare  scholar,  which,  in  thy  opinion, 

Doth  cause  the  strongest  breath,  garlic  or  onion. 

Gia.  Answer  him,  brother-fool ;  do,  do ;  speak  thy 
mind,  chuck,  do. 

Ros.  Have  bid  seen  all  da  fine  knack,  and  de,  e, 
naghtye  tat-tle  of  da  kna-ve,  dad  la  have  so. 

Duke.  We  understand  him  not. 

Mau.  Admirable,  I  protest  duke ;  mark,  O,  duke, 
mark'! — What  did  I  ask  him,  Giacopo  ? 


sc EXE  ii.]  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  337 

Gia.  What  caused  the  strongest  breath,  garlic  or 
onions,  I  take  it,  sir. 

Mau.  Right,  right,  by  Helicon  !  and  his  answer  is, 
that  a  knave  has  a  stronger  breath  than  any  of  'em  : 
wisdom — or  I  am  an  ass — in  the  highest ;  a  direct  figure ; 
put  it  down,  Giacopo. 

Duke.  How  happy  is  that  idiot  whose  ambition 
Is  but  to  eat  and  sleep,  and  shun  the  rod  ! 
Men  that  have  more  of  wit,  and  use  it  ill, 
Are  fools  in  proof. 

Bian.  True,  my  lord,  there's  many 

Who  think  themselves  most  wise  that  are  most  fools. 

D'Av.  Bitter  girds,1  if  all  were  known ; — but — 

Duke.  But  what?  speak  out;  plague  on  your  muttering, 

grumbling  ! 
I  hear  you,  sir ;  what  is't  ? 

D'Av.  Nothing,  I  protest,  to  your  highness  pertinent 
to  any  moment. 

Duke.  Well,    sir,   remember.  —  Friend,    you   promised 

study. — 

I  am  not  well  in  temper. — Come,  Bianca.-- 
Attend  our  friend,  Ferentes. 

{Exeunt  all  but  FERNANDO,  K.OSEILLI,  FERENTES 
and  MAURUCCIO. 

Fern.  Ferentes,  take  Mauruccio  in  with  you  ; 
He  must  be  one  in  action. 

Feren.  Come,  my  lord, 

I  shall  entreat  your  help. 

Fern.  I'll  stay  the  fool, 

And  follow  instantly. 

Man.  Yes,  pray,  my  lord. 

{Exeunt  FERENTES  and  MAURUCCIO. 

Firn.  How  thrive  your  hopes  now,  cousin? 

Ros.  Are  we  safe  ? 

Then  let  me  cast  myself  beneath  thy  foot, 
True,  virtuous  lord.     Know,  then,  sir,  her  proud  heart 

1  i.e.  Sarcasms. 
Ford.  7. 


338  LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  [ACT  in. 

Is  only  fixed  on  you,  in  such  extremes 
Of  violence  and  passion,  that  I  fear, 
Or  she'll  enjoy  you,  or  she'll  ruin  you. 

Fern.  Me,  coz  ?  by  all  the  joys  I  wish  to  taste, 
She  is  as  far  beneath  my  thought  as  I 
In  soul  above  her  malice. 

Ros.  1  observed 

Even  now  a  kind  of  dangerous  pretence1 
In  an  unjointed  phrase  from  D'Avolos. 
I  know  not  his  intent ;  but  this  I  know, 
He  has  a  working  brain,  is  minister 
To  all  my  lady's  counsels ;  and,  my  lord, 
Pray  Heaven  there  have  not  anything  befall'n 
Within  the  knowledge  of  his  subtle  art 
To  do  you  mischief ! 

Fern.  Pish  !  should  he  or  hell 

Affront  me  in  the  passage  of  my  fate, 
I'd  crush  them  into  atomies. 

Ros.  I  do  admit  you  could  :  meantime,  my  lord, 
Be  nearest  to  yourself;  what  I  can  learn, 
You  shall  be  soon  informed  of :  here  is  all 

We  fools  can  catch  the  wise  in, — to  unknot, 

By  privilege  of  coxcombs,2  what  they  plot.        {Exeunt. 


SCENE  III. — Another  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  DUKE  and  D'AVOLOS. 

Duke.  Thou  art  a  traitor  :  do  not  think  the  gloss 
Of  smooth  evasion,  by  your  cunning  jests 
And  coinage  of  your  politician's  brain, 
Shall  jig  me  off;  I'll  know't,  I  vow  I  will. 
Did  not  I  note  your  dark  abrupted  ends 
Of  words  half-spoke?  your  "  wells,  if  all  were  known  "  ? 
Your  short  "  I  like  not  that  "  ?  your  girds  and  "  buts  "  ? 

1  Design.  -  Fools'-caps. 


^ 

SCENE  in.]         LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  339 

Yes,  sir,  I  did ;  such  broken  language  argues 
More  matter  than  your  subtlety  shall  hide : 
Tell  me,  what  is't?  by  honour's  self  I'll  know. 

D'Av.  What  would  you  know,  my  lord  ?  I  confess  I 
owe  my  life  and  service  to  you,  as  to  my  prince ;  the  one 
you  have,  the  other  you  may  take  from  me  at  your  plea 
sure.  Should  I  devise  matter  to  feed  your  distrust,  or 
suggest  likelihoods  without  appearance  ?  what  would  you 
have  me  say  ?  I  know  nothing. 

Duke.  Thou  liest,  dissembler !  on  thy  brow  I  read 
Distracted  horrors  figured  in  thy  looks. 
On  thy  allegiance,  D'Avolos,  as  e'er 
Thou  hop'st  to  live  in  grace  with  us,  unfold 
What  by  the  parti-halting  of  thy  speech 
Thy  knowledge  can  discover.     By  the  faith 
We  bear  to  sacred  justice,  we  protest, 
Be  it  or  good  or  evil,  thy  reward 
Shall  be  our  special  thanks  and  love  untermed  :  * 
Speak,  on  thy  duty  ;  we,  thy  prince,  command. 

D>Av.  O,  my  disaster !  my  lord,  I  am  so  charmed  by 
those  powerful  repetitions  of  love  and  duty,  that  I  cannot 
conceal  what  I  know  of  your  dishonour. 

Duke.  Dishonour  !  then  my  soul  is  cleft  with  fear  ; 
I  half  presage  my  misery  :  say  on, 
Speak  it  at  once,  for  I  am  great  with  grief. 

D' AT.  I  trust  your  highness  will  pardon  me ;  yet  I 
will  not  deliver  a  syllable  which  shall  be  less  innocent 
than  truth  itself. 

Duke.  By  all  our  wish  of  joys,  we  pardon  thee. 

D*Av.  Get  from  me,  cowardly  servility  !  my  service  is 
noble,  and  my  loyalty  an  armour  of  brass :  in  short,  my 
lord,  and  plain  discovery,  you  are  a  cuckold. 

Duke.  Keep  in  the  word, — a  "  cuckold  !  " 

D1  Av.  Fernando  is  your  rival,  has  stolen  your  duchess' 
heart,  murdered  friendship,  horns  your  head,  and  laughs 
at  your  horns. 

1  Interminable. 


340  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICK.  [ACT  in. 

Duke.  My  heart  is  split ! 

D'Av.  Take  courage,  be  a  prince  in  resolution  :  I  knew 
it  would  nettle  you  in  the  fire  of  your  composition,  and 
was  loth  to  have  given  the  first  report  of  this  more  than 
ridiculous  blemish  to  all  patience  or  moderation :  but,  O, 
my  lord,  what  would  not  a  subject  do  to  approve  his 
loyalty  to  his  sovereign  ?  Yet,  good  sir,  take  it  as  quietly 
as  you  can  :  I  must  needs  say  'tis  a  foul  fault ;  but  what 
man  is  he  under  the  sun  that  is  free  from  the  career  of  his 
destiny  ?  May  be  she  will  in  time  reclaim  the  errors  of 
her  youth  ;  or  'twere  a  great  happiness  in  you,  if  you 
could  not  believe  it ;  that's  the  surest  way,  my  lord,  in  my 
poor  counsel. 

Duke.  The  icy  current  of  my  frozen  blood 
Is  kindled  up  in  agonies  as  hot 
As  flames  of  burning  sulphur.     O,  my  fate  ! 
A  cuckold  !  had  my  dukedom's  whole  inheritance 
Been  rent,  mine  honours  levelled  in  the  dust, 
So  she,  that  wicked  woman,  might  have  slept 
Chaste  in  my  bosom,  't  had  been  all  a  sport. 
And  he,  that  villain,  viper  to  my  heart, 
That  he  should  be  the  man  !  death  above  utterance  ! 
Take  heed  you  prove  this  true. 

DAv.  My  lord,— 

Duke.  If  not, 

I'll  tear  thee  joint  by  joint.— Phew  !  methinks 
It  should  not  be : — Bianca  !  why,  I  took  her 
From  lower  than  a  bondage  : — hell  of  hells  I— 
See  that  you  make  it  good. 

D'Av.  As  for  that,  'would  it  were  as  good  as  I  would 
make  it !  I  can,  if  you  will  temper  your  distractions,  but 
bring  you  where  you  shall  see  it ;  no  more. 

Duke.  See  it ! 

1  D'Av.  Ay,  see  it,  if  that  be  proof  sufficient.  I,  for 
my  part,  will  slack  no  service  that  may  testify  my  sim 
plicity. 

Duke.  Enough. 


SCENE  iv. ]         LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  341 

Enter  FERNANDO. 

What  news,  Fernando  ? 

Per.  Sir,  the  abbot 

Is  now  upon  arrival ;  all  your  servants 
Attend  your  presence. 

Duke,  We  will  give  him  welcome 

As  shall  befit  our  love  and  his  respect. 
Come,  mine  own  best  Fernando*  Jay-dear  friend. 

[Exit  with  FERNANDO. 

D' AT.  Excellent !  now  for  a  horned  moon.  [Music 
?«: '///////.]  But  I  hear  the  preparation  for  the  entertainment 
of  this  great  abbot.  Let  him  come  and  go,  that  matters 
nothing  to  this  ;  whiles  he  rides  abroad  in  hope  to  pur 
chase  a  purple  hat,  our  duke  shall  as  earnestly  heat  the 
pericranion  of  his  noddle  with  a  yellow  hood  at  home.  I 
hear  'em  coming. 

Loud  music.  Enter  Servants  with  torches ;  then  the  Duke, 
followed  by  FERNANDO,  BIANCA,  FIORMONDA,  PE- 
TRUCHIO,  and  NIBRASSA,  at  one  side ;  two  Friars,  the 
Abbot  and  Attendants  at  the  other.  The  Duke  ana 
Abbot  meet  and  salute ;  BIANCA  and  the  rest  salute, 
and  are  saluted ;  they  rank  themselves,  and  pass  over 
the  stage ;  the  Choir  singing. 

On  to  your  victuals;  some   of  ye,  I  know,   feed  upon 
wormwood.  [Exit. 


SCENE  IV. — Another  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  PETRUCHIO  and  NIBRASSA  with  napkins,  as  from 
supper. 

Pet.  The  duke's  on  rising  :  are  you  ready  ?  ho  ! 

[  mthiti.}  All  ready. 

Nib.  Then,  Petruchio,  arm  thyself  with  courage   and 


342  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  in. 

resolution ;  and  do  not  shrink  from  being  stayed  on  thy 
own  virtue. 

Pet.  I  am  resolved. — Fresh  lights  ! — I  hear  'em  coming. 

Enter  Attendants  with  lights,   before  the  Duke,  Abbot, 

BlANCA,  FlORMONDA,  FERNANDO,  and  D'AVOLOS. 

Duke.   Right  reverend  uncle,  though   our   minds   be 

scanted 

In  giving  welcome  as  our  hearts  would  wish, 
Yet  we  will  strive  to  show  how  much  we  joy 
Your  presence  with  a  courtly  show  of  mirth. 
Please  you  to  sit. 

Abbot.  Great  duke,  your  worthy  honours 

To  me  shall  still  have  place  in  my  best  thanks  : 
Since  you  in  me  so  much  respect  the  church, 
Thus  much  I'll  promise, — at  my  next  return 
His  holiness  shall  grant  you  an  indulgence 
Both  large  and  general. 

Duke.  Our  humble  duty  ! — 

Seat  you,  my  lords. — Now  let  the  masquers  enter. 

Enter,  in  an  antic  fashion,  FERENTES,  ROSEILLI,  and 
MAURUCCIO  at  several  doors ;  they  dance  a  short  time. 
Suddenly  enter  to  them  COLONA,  JULIA,  and  MORONA 
in  odd  shapes,  and  dance :  the  men  gaze  at  them,  and 
are  invited  by  the  women  to  dance.  They  dance  to 
gether  sundry  changes ;  at  last  FERENTES  is  closed  in, — 
MAURUCCIO  and  ROSEILLI  being  shook  off,  stand  at 
different  ends  of  the  stage  gazing.  The  women  join 
hands  and  dance  round  FERENTES  with  divers  com- 
plimental  offers  of  courtship ;  at  length  they  suddenly 
fall  upon  him  and  stab  him  ;  he  falls,  and  they  run 
out  at  several  doors.  The  music  ceases. 

Feren.  Uncase  me  ;  I  am  slain  in  jest.  A  pox  upon 
your  outlandish  feminine  antics  !  pull  off  my  visor ;  I 
shall  bleed  to  death  ere  I  have  time  to  feel  where  I 


SCENE  iv.]          LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  .343 

am  hurt. — Duke,   I    am  slain:    off  with  my  visor;    for 
heaven's  sake,  off  with  my  visor  ! 

Duke.    Slain ! — Take    his   visor    off      \They    unmask 

FERENTES]  : — we  are  betrayed  : 
Seize  on  them  !  two  are  yonder  :  hold  Ferentes  : 
Follow  the  rest :  apparent  treachery  ! 

Abbot.  Holy  Saint  Bennet,  what  a  sight  is  this ! 

Re-enter  JULIA,  COLON  A,  and  MORON  A  immasked,  each 
with  a  child  in  her  arms. 

Jul.  Be  not  amazed,  great  princes,  but  vouchsafe 
Your  audience  :  we  are  they  have  done  this  deed. 
Look  here,  the  pledges  of  this  false  man's  lust, 
Betrayed  in  our  simplicities  :  he  swore, 
And  pawned  his  truth,  to  marry  each  of  us ; 
Abused  us  all ;  unable  to  revenge 
Our  public  shames  but  by  his  public  fall, 
Which  thus  we  have  contrived  :  nor  do  we  blush 
To  call  the  glory  of  this  murder  ours  ; 
We  did  it,  and  we'll  justify  the  deed  ; 
For  when  in  sad  complaints  we  claimed  his  vows, 
His  answer  was  reproach  : — Villain,  is't  true  ? 

Col.  I  was  "  too  quickly  won,"  you  slave  ! 

Mor.  I  was  "  too  old,"  you  dog  ! 

Jul.  I, — and  I  never  shall  forget  the  wrong, — 
I  was  "  not  fair  enough  ;  "  not  fair  enough 
For  thee,  thou  monster  ! — let  me  cut  his  gall — 
Not  fair  enough  !     O,  scorn  !  not  fair  enough  ! 

\Stabs  him. 

Feren.  O,  O,  O  !— 

Duke.  Forbear,  you  monstrous  women  !  do  not  add 
Murder  to  lust :  your  lives  shall  pay  this  forfeit. 

Feren.  Pox  upon  all  cod-piece  extravagancy  !  I  am  pep 
pered — O,  O,  O  !— Duke,  forgive  me  ! — Had  I  rid  any 
tame  beasts  but  Barbary  wild  colts,  I  had  not  been  thus 
jerked  out  of  the  saddle.  My  forfeit  was  in  my  blood ; 
and  my  life  hath  answered  it.  Vengeance  on  all  wild 


344 


LOVE'S  SACRIFICE. 


[ACT  in. 


whores,    I    say  ! — O,    'tis   true — farewell,   generation   of 
hackneys  ! — 0  !  [Dies. 

Duke.  He  is  dead. 
To  prison  with  those  monstrous  strumpets  ! 

Pet.  Stay ; 

I'll  answer  for  my  daughter. 

Nib.  And  I  for  mine. — • 

O,  well  done,  girls  ! 

Fern.  I  for  yon  gentlewoman,  sir. 

Matt.  Good  my  lord,  I  am  an  innocent  in  the  busi 
ness. 

Duke.  To  prison  with  him  !     Bear  the  body  hence. 

•Abbot.  Here's  fatal  sad  presages  :  but  'tis  just 
He  dies  by  murder  that  hath  lived  in  lust.      [Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

SCENE  I. — An  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Duke,  FIORMONDA,  and  D'AVOLOS. 

IOR.  Art  thou  Caraffa  ?  is  there  in  thy 

veins 
One  drop  of  blood  that  issued  from  the 

loins 
Of  Pavy's  ancient  dukes  ?  or  dost  thou 

sit 

On  great  Lorenzo's  seat,  our  glorious  father, 
And  canst  not  blush  to  be  so  far  beneath 
The  spirit  of  heroic  ancestors  ? 
Canst  thou  engross l  a  slavish  shame,  which  men 
Far,  far  below  the  region  of  thy  state 
Not  more  abhor  than  study  to  revenge  ? 
Thou  an  Italian  !     I  could  burst  with  rage 
To  think  I  have  a  brother  so  befooled 
In  giving  patience  to  a  harlot's  lust. 

D '  Av.  One,  my  lord,  that  doth  so  palpably,  so  appa 
rently  make  her  adulteries  a  trophy,  whiles  the  poting- 
stick2  to  her  unsatiate  and  more  than  goatish  abomination 
jeers  at  and  flouts  your  sleepish,  and  more  than  sleepish, 
security. 

Fior.  What  is  she  but  the  sallow-coloured  brat 
( )f  some  unlanded  bankrupt,  taught  to  catch 
The  easy  fancies  of  young  prodigal  bloods 

1  Possess. 

2  Or  poking-stick,  a  slender  rod  of  bone  or  steel,  for  setting  the 
plaits  of  ruffs,  cuffs,  &c.,  after  starching. 


346  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  iv. 

In  springes  of  her  stew-instructed  art  ? — 

Here's  your  most  virtuous  duchess  !  your  rare  piece  ! 

D 'At1.  More  base  in  the  infiniteness  of  her  sensuality 
than  corruption  can  infect : — to  clip  and  inveigle  your 
friend  too  !  O,  unsufferable  !— a  friend  !  how  of  all  men 
are  you  most  unfortunate  ! — to  pour  out  your  soul  into 
the  bosom  of  such  a  creature  as  holds  it  religion  to  make 
your  own  trust  a  key  to  open  the  passage  to  your  own 
wife's  womb,  to  be  drunk  in  the  privacies  of  your  bed  I— 
think  upon  that,  sir. 

Duke.  Be  gentle  in  your  tortures,  e'en  for  pity  ; 
For  pity's  cause  I  beg  it. 

Fior.  Be  a  prince  ! 

Th'adst  better,  duke,  thou  hadst,  been  born  a  peasant. 
Now  boys  will  sing  thy  scandal  in  the  streets, 
Tune  ballads  to  thy  infamy,  get  money 
By  making  pageants  of  thee,  and  invent 
Some  strangely-shaped  man-beast,  that  may  for  horns 
Resemble  thee,  and  call  it  Pavy's  Duke. 
Duke.  Endless  immortal  plague  ! 

D }Av.  There's  the  mischief,  sir  :  in  the  meantime  you 
shall  be  sure  to  have  a  bastard — of  whom  you  did  not  so 
much  as  beget  a  little  toe,  a  le'ft  ear,  or  half  the  further 
side  of  an  upper  lip — inherit  both  your  throne  and  name : 

this  would  kill  the  soul  of  very  patience  itself. 
Duke.  Forbear ;  the  ashy  paleness  of  my  cheek 

Is  scarleted  in  ruddy  flakes  of  wrath  ; 

And  like  some  bearded  meteor  shall  suck  up, 

With  swiftest  terror,  all  those  dusky  mists 

That  overcloud  compassion  in  our  breast. 

You've  roused  a  sleeping  lion,  whom  no  art, 

No  fawning  smoothness  shall  reclaim,  but  blood. 

And  sister  thou,  thou,  Roderico,  thou, 

From  whom  I  take  the  surfeit  of  my  bane, 

Henceforth  no  more  so  eagerly  pursue 

To  whet  my  dulness  :  you  shall  see  Caraffa 

Equal  his  birth,  and  matchless  in  revenge. 


SCENE  I].  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  347 

Fior,  Why,  now  I  hear  you  speak  in  majesty. 
D'Av.  And  it  becomes  my  lord  most  princely. 

Duke.  Does  it  ? — Come  hither,  sister.     Thou  art  near 
In  nature,  and  as  near  to  me  in  love  : 
I  love  thee,  yes,  by  yon  bright  firmament, 
I  love  thee  dearly.     But  observe  me  well : 
If  any  private  grudge  or  female  spleen, 
Malice  or  envy,  or  such  woman's  frailty, 
Have  spurred  thee  on  to  set  my  soul  on  fire 
Without  apparent  certainty, — I  vow, 
And  vow  again,  by  all  our  princely  blood, 
Hadst  thou  a  double  soul,  or  were  the  lives 
Of  fathers,  mothers,  children,  or  the  hearts 
Of  all  our  tribe  in  thine,  I  would  unrip 
That  womb  of  bloody  mischief  with  these  nails 
Where  such  a  cursed  plot  as  this  was  hatched. — 
But,  D'Avolos,  for  thee — no  more;  to  work 
A  yet  more  strong  impression  in  my  brain 
You  must  produce  an  instance  to  mine  eye 
Both  present  and  apparent — nay,  you  shall — or — 

Fior.  Or  what  ?  you  will  be  mad  ?  be  rather  wise ; 
Think  on  Ferentes  first,  and  think  by  whom 
The  harmless  youth  was  slaughtered  :  had  he  lived, 
He  would  have  told  you  tales  :  Fernando  feared  it ; 
And  to  prevent  him, — under  show,  forsooth, 
Of  rare  device, — most  trimly  cut  him  off. 
Have  you  yet  eyes,  duke  ? 

Duke.  Shrewdly  urged, — 'tis  piercing. 

Fior.  For  looking  on  a  sight  shall  split  your  soul, 
You  shall  not  care  :  I'll  undertake  myself 
To  do't  some  two  days  hence ;  for  need,  to-night, 
But  that  you  are  in  court. 

D' Av.  Right.  Would  you  desire,  my  lord,  to  see 
them  exchange  kisses,  sucking  one  another's  lips,  nay, 
begetting  an  heir  to  the  dukedom,  or  practising  more 
than  the  very  act  of  adultery  itself?  Give  but  a  little 
way  by  a  feigned  absence,  and  you  shall  find  'em — I 


348  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  iv. 

blush  to  speak  doing  what :  I  am  mad  to  think  on't ; 
you  are  most  shamefully,  most  sinfully,  most  scornfully 
cornuted. 

Duke.  D'ye  play  upon  me  ?  as  I  am  your  prince, 
There's  some  shall  roar  for  this  !     Why,  what  was  I, 
Both  to  be  thought  or  made  so  vile  a  thing  ? 
Stay,  madam  marquess, — ho,  Roderico,  you,  sir, — 
Bear  witness  that  if  ever  I  neglect 
One  day,  one  hour,  one  minute,  to  wear  out 
With  toil  of  plot  or  practice  of  conceit 
My  busy  skull,  till  I  have  found  a  death 
More  horrid  than  the  bull  of  Phalaris, 
Or  all  the  fabling  poets'  dreaming  whips  ; 
If  ever  I  take  rest,  or  force  a  smile 
Which  is  not  borrowed  from  a  royal  vengeance, 
Before  I  know  which  way  to  satisfy 
Fury  and  wrong, — nay,  kneel   down  \They  kneel\—  let 

me  die 

More  wretched  than  despair,  reproach,  contempt, 
Laughter,  and  poverty  itself  can  make  me  ! 
Let's  rise  on  all  sides  friends   \They  rise]  : — now  all's 

agreed  : 
If  the  moon  serve,  some  that  are  safe  shall  bleed.1 

Enter  BIANCA,  FERNANDO,  and  MORONA. 

Bian.  My  lord  the  duke, — 

Duke.  Bianca  !  ha,  how  is't  ? 

How  is't,  Bianca? — What,  Fernando  ! — come, 
Shall's  shake  hands,  sirs? — 'faith,  this  is  kindly  done. 
Here's  three  as  one  :  welcome,  dear  wire,  sweet  friend  ! 

D'Av.  \_Aside  to  FIORMONDA]  I  do  not  like  this  now ; 
it  shows  scurvily  to  me. 

Bian.  My  lord,  we  have  a  suit ;  your  friend  and  I— 

Duke.  [Aside\  She  puts  my  friend  before,  most  kindly 
still. 

1  Certain  states  of  the  moon  were  considered  especially  favour 
able  for  the  operation  of  bleeding. 


SCENE  i.]  L  O  VE '  S  SA  CRIFICE.  349 

Bian.  Must  join — 

Duke.  What,  "must"? 

Bian.  My  lord  ! — 

Duke.  Must  join,  you  say — 

Bian.  That  you  will  please  to  set  Mauruccio 
At  liberty ;  this  gentlewoman  here 
Hath,  by  agreement  made  betwixt  them  two, 
Obtained  him  for  her  husband  :  good  my  lord, 
Let  me  entreat ;  I  dare  engage  mine  honour 
He's  innocent  in  any  wilful  fault. 

Duke.  Your  honour,  madam  !  now  beshrew  you  for't, 
T'  engage  your  honour  on  so  slight  a  ground  : 
Honour's  a  precious  jewel,  I  can  tell  you ; 
Nay,  'tis,  Bianca  ;  go  to  ! — D'Avolos, 
Bring  us  Mauruccio  hither. 

D'Av.  I  shall,  my  lord.  {Exit. 

Mor.  I  humbly  thank  your  grace. 

Fern.  And,  royal  sir,  since  Julia  and  Colona, 
Chief  actors  in  Ferentes'  tragic  end, 
Were,  through  their  ladies'  mediation, 
Freed  by  your  gracious  pardon  ;  I,  in  pity, 
Tendered  this  widow's  friendless  misery  ; 
For  whose  reprieve  I  shall,  in  humblest  duty, 
Be  ever  thankful. 

Re-enter  D'AVOLOS  with  MAURUCCIO  in  rags,  and 
GIACOPO  weeping. 

Mau.  Come  you,  my  learned  counsel,  do  not  roar ; 
If  I  must  hang,  why,  then,  lament  therefore  : 
You  may  rejoice,  and  both,  no  doubt,  be  great 
To  serve  your  prince,  when  I  am  turned  worms'-meat. 
I  fear  my  lands  and  all  I  have  is  begged ; l 
Else,  woe  is  me,  why  should  I  be  so  ragged  ? 

D*Av.  Come  on,  sir  ;  the  duke  stays  for  you. 

Mau.  O,  how  my  stomach  doth  begin  to  puke, 
When  I  do  hear  that  only  word,  the  duke ! 

1  i,e.  As  a  condemned  person. 


350  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  IV. 

Duke.  You,  sir,  look  on  that  woman  :  are  you  pleased, 
If  we  remit  your  body  from  the  gaol, 
To  take  her  for  your  wife  ? 

Mau.  On  that  condition,  prince,  with  all  my  heart. 

Mor.  Yes,  I  warrant  your  grace  he  is  content. 

Duke.  Why,  foolish  man,  hast  thou  so  soon  forgot 
The  public  shame  of  her  abused  womb, 
Her  being  mother  to  a  bastard's  birth  ? 
Or  canst  thou  but  imagine  she  will  be 
True  to  thy  bed  who  to  herself  was  false  ? 

Gia.  [To  MAURUCCIO]  Phew,  sir,  do  not  stand  upon 
that ;  that's  a  matter  of  nothing,  you  know. 

Matt.  Nay,  an't  shall  please  your  good  grace,  an  it 
come  to  that,  I  care  not ;  as  good  men  as  I  have  lain  in 
foul  sheets,  I  am  sure  ;  the  linen  has  not  been  much  the 
worse  for  the  wearing  a  little  :  I  will  have  her  with  all 
my  heart. 

Duke.  And   shalt. — Fernando,    thou    shalt   have   the 

grace 
To  join  their  hands  ;  put  'em  together,  friend. 

Bian.  Yes,  do,  my  lord  ;   bring  you   the  bridegroom 

hither  • 
I'll  give  the  bride  myself. 

D'Av.  [Aside]  Here's  argument  to  jealousy  as  good 
as  drink  to  the  dropsy ;  she  will  share  any  disgrace  with 
him  :  I  could  not  wish  it  better. 

Duke.  Even  so :  well,  do  it. 

Fern.  Here,  Mauruccio; 

Long  live  a  happy  couple ! 

[FERNANDO  and  BIANCA_/<?Z«  their  hands. 

Duke.  'Tis  enough  ; 

Now  know  our  pleasure  henceforth.     'Tis  our  will, 
If  ever  thou,  Mauruccio,  or  thy  wife, 
Be  seen  within  a  dozen  miles  o'  the  court, 
We  will  recall  our  mercy ;  no  entreat 
Shall  warrant  thee  a  minute  of  thy  life  : 
We'll  have  no  servile  slavery  of  lust 


SCENE  i.]  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  35 1 

Shall  breathe  near  us  ;  dispatch,  and  get  ye  hence. — 
Bianca,  come  with  me. — {Aside^\  O,  my  cleft  soul  ! 

{Exeunt  Duke  and  BIANCA. 

Man.  How's  that  ?  must  I  come  no  more  near  the 
court  ? 

Gia.  O,  pitiful !  not  near  the  court,  sir ! 

D'Av.  Not  by  a  dozen  miles,  indeed,  sir.  Your  only 
course,  I  can  advise  you,  is  to  pass  to  Naples,  and  set 
up  a  house  of  carnality :  there  are  very  fair  and  frequent 
suburbs,  and  you  need  not  fear  the  contagion  of  any 
pestilent  disease,  for  the  worst  is  very  proper  to  the  place. 

Fern.  'Tis  a  strange  sentence. 

Fior.  'Tis,  and  sudden  too, 

And  not  without  some  mystery. 

D'Av.  Will  you  go,  sir  ? 

Man.  Not  near  the  court ! 

Mor.  What  matter  is  it,  sweetheart  ?  fear  nothing,  love ; 
you  shall  have  new  change  of  apparel,  good  diet,  whole 
some  attendance ;— and  we  will  live  like  pigeons,  my 
lord. 

Mau.  Wilt  thou  forsake  me,  Giacopo  ? 

Gia.  I  forsake  ye  !  no,  not  as  long  as  I  have  a  whole 
ear  on  my  head,  come  what  will  come. 

Fior.    Mauruccio,  you  did  once  proffer  true  love 
To  me,  but  since  you  are  more  thriftier  sped, 
For  old  affection's  sake  here  take  this  gold  ; 
Spend  it  for  my  sake. 

Feni.  Madam,  you  do  nobiy,— 

And  that's  for  me,  Mauruccio.  [  They  give  him  money. 

D*Av.  Will  ye  go,  sir  ? 

Mau.  Yes,  I  will  go  ; — and  I  humbly  thank  your  lord 
ship  and  ladyship. — Pavy,  sweet  Pavy,  farewell ! — 
Come,  wife, — come,  Giacopo  : 

Now  is  the  time  that  we  away  must  lag, 

And  march  in  pomp  with  baggage  and  with  bag. 

O  poor  Mauruccio  !  what  hast  thou  misdone, 

To  end  thy  life  when  life  was  new  begun  ? 


352  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  IV. 

Adieu  to  all ;  for  lords  and  ladies  see 

My  woeful  plight  and  squires  of  low  degree  ! 

D'Av.  Away,  away,  sirs  ! 

{Exeunt  all  but  FIORMONDA  and  FERNANDO. 

Fior.  My  Lord  Fernando, — 

Fern.  Madam  ? 

Fior.  Do  you  note 

My  brother's  odd  distractions  ?     You  were  wont 
To  bosom  in  his  counsels  :  I  am  sure 
You  know  the  ground  of  it. 

Fern.  Not  I,  in  troth. 

Fior.  Is't  possible  ?     What  would  you  say,  my  lord 
If  he,  out  of  some  melancholy  spleen, 
Edged-on  by  some  thank-picking  parasite, 
Should  now  prove  jealous  ?     I  mistrust  it  shrewdly. 

Fern.  What,  madam  !  jealous  ? 

Fior.  Yes  ;  for  but  observe, 

A  prince  whose  eye  is  chooser  to  his  heart 
Is  seldom  steady  in  the  lists  of  love, 
Unless  the  party  he  affects  do  match 
His  rank  in  equal  portion  or  in  friends  : 
I  never  yet,  out  of  report,  or  else 
By  warranted  description,  have  observed 
The  nature  of  fantastic  jealousy, 
If  not  in  him  ;  yet,  on  my  conscience  now, 
He  has  no  cause. 

Fern.  Cause,  madam  !  by  this  light, 

I'll  pledge  my  soul  against  a  useless  rush. 

Fior.  I  never  thought  her  less  ;  yet,  trust  me,  sir, 
No  merit  can  be  greater  than  your  praise : 
Whereat  I  strangely  wonder,  how  a  man 
Vowed,  as  you  told  me,  to  a  single  life, 
Should  so  much  deify  the  saints  from  whom 
You  have  disclaimed  devotion. 

Fern.  Madam,  'tis  true  ; 

From  them  I  have,  but  from  their  virtues  never. 

Fior.  You  are  too  wise,  Fernando.     To  be  plain, 


SCENE  ii.]          L  O  VE  '  S  SA  CRIFICE.  353 

You  are  in  love  ;  nay,  shrink  not,  man,  you  are  ; 
Bianca  is  your  aim  :  why  do  you  blush  ? 
She  is,  I  know  she  is. 

Fern.  My  aim ! 

Fior.  Yes,  yours  ; 

I  hope  I  talk  no  news.     Fernando,  know 
Thou  runn'st  to  thy  confusion,  if  in  time 
Thou  dost  not  wisely  shun  that  Circe's  charm. 
Unkindest  man  !  I  have  too  long  concealed 
My  hidden  flames,  when  still  in  silent  signs 
I  courted  thee  for  love,  without  respect 
To  youth  or  state  ;  and  yet  thou  art  unkind. 
Fernando,  leave  that  sorceress,  if  not 
For  love  of  me,  for  pity  of  thyself. 

Fern.  [  Walks  aside\  Injurious  woman,  I  defy  thy  lust. 
'Tis  not  your  subtle  sifting  that  shall  creep 
Into  the  secrets  of  a  heart  unsoiled. — 
You  are  my  prince's  sister,  else  your  malice 
Had  railed  itself  to  death  :  but  as  for  me, 

Be  record  all  my  fate,  I  do  detest 

Your  fury  or  affection  : — judge  the  rest.  \_Exit. 

Fior.  What,  gone  !  well,  go  thy  ways  :  I  see  the  more 
I  humble  my  firm  love,  the  more  he  skuns 
Both  it  and  me.     So  plain  !  then  'tis  too  late 
To  hope  ;  change,  peevish  passion,  to  contempt ! 

Whatever  rages  in  my  blood  I  feel, 

Fool,  he  shall  know  I  was  not  born  to  kneel.       \_Exit. 


SCENE  II. — Another  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  D'AvoLOS  and  JULIA. 

D "  Av.  Julia,  mine  own,  speak  softly.  What,  hast  thou 
learned  out  any  thing  of  this  pale  widgeon  ?  speak  soft ; 
what  does  she  say  ? 

Jul.  Foh,  more  than  all ;  there's  not  an  hour  shall  pass 

Ford.  A  A 


354  L  O  VE '  S  SA  CRIFICE.  [ACT  i v. 

But  I  shall  have  intelligence,  she  swears. 

Whole  nights — you  know  my  mind  ;  I  hope  you'll  give 

The  gown  you  promised  me. 

D'Av.  Honest  Julia,  peace  ;  thou'rt  a  woman  worth  a 
kingdom.  Let  me  never  be  believed  now  but  I  think  it 
will  be  my  destiny  to  be  thy  husband  at  last :  what  though 
thou  have  a  child, — or  perhaps  two  ? 

Jul.  Never  but  one,  I  swear. 

D'Av.  Well,  one ;  is  that  such  a  matter  ?  I  like  thee 
the  better  for't.!  it  shows  thou  hast  a  good  tenantable  and 
fertile  womb,  worth  twenty  of  your  barren,  dry,  bloodless 
devourers  of  youth. — But  come,  I  will  talk  with  thee 
more  privately ;  the  duke  has  a  journey  in  hand,  and  will 
not  be  long  absent :  see,  he  has  come  already— let's  pass 
away  easily.  \_Exeimt. 

Enter  Duke  and  BIANCA. 

Duke.  Troubled  ?  yes,  I  have  cause. — O,  Bianca  ! 
Here  was  my  fate  engraven  in  thy  brow, 
This  smooth,  fair,  polished  table ;  in  thy  cheeks 
Nature  summed  up  thy  dower  :  'twas  not  wealth, 
The  miser's  god,  or  royalty  of  blood, 
Advanced  thee  to  my  bed  ;  but  love,  and  hope 
Of  virtue  that  might  equal  those  sweet  looks  : 
If,  then,  thou  shouldst  betray  my  trust,  thy  faith, 
To  the  pollution  of  a  base  desire, 
Thou  wert  a  wretched  woman. 

Bian.  Speaks  your  love 

Or  fear,  my  lord  ? 

Duke.  Both,  both.     Bianca,  know, 

The  nightly  languish  of  my  dull  unrest 
Hath  stamped  a  strong  opinion  ;  for,  methought, — 
Mark  what  I  say, — as  I  in  glorious  pomp 
•Was  sitting  on  my  throne,  whiles  I  had  hemmed 
My  best-beloved  Bianca  in  mine  arms, 
She  reached  my  cap  of  state,  and  cast  it  down 
Beneath  her  foot,  and  spurned  it  in  the  dust ; 


SCENE  ii.]  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  355 

Whiles  I — O,  'twas  a  dream  too  full  of  fate  ! — 

Was  stooping  down  to  reach  it,  on  my  head 

Fernando,  like  a  traitor  to  his  vows, 

Clapt,  in  disgrace,  a  coronet  of  horns. 

But,  by  the  honour  of  anointed  kings, 

Were  both  of  you  hid  in  a  rock  of  fire, 

Guarded  by  ministers  of  flaming  hell, 

I  have  a  sword — 'tis  here — should  make  my  way 

Through  fire,   through   darkness,  death,  and   hell,  and 

all, 

To  hew  your  lust-engendered  flesh  to  shreds, 
Pound  you  to  mortar,  cut  your  throats,  and  mince 
Your  flesh  to  mites  :  I  will, — start  not, — I  will. 

Bian.  Mercy  protect  me,  will  ye  murder  me  ? 

Duke.  Yes. — O,  I  cry  thee  mercy  ! — How  the  rage 
Of  my  own  dreamed-of  wrongs  made  me  forget 
All  sense  of  sufferance  ! — Blame  me  not,  Bianca  ; 
One  such  another  dream  would  quite  distract 
Reason  and  self-humanity  :  yet  tell  me, 
Was't  not  an  ominous  vision  ? 

Bian.  'Twas,  my  lord, 

Yet  but  a  vision  :  for  did  such  a  guilt 
Hang  on  mine  honour,  'twere  no  blame  in  you, 
If  you  did  stab  me  to  the  heart. 

Duke.  The  heart ! 

Nay,  strumpet,  to  the  soul ;  and  tear  it  off 
From  life,  to  damn  it  in  immortal  death. 

Bian.  Alas  !  what  do  you  mean,  sir  ? 

Duke.  I  am  mad. — 

Forgive  me,  good  Bianca ;  still  methinks 
I  dream  and  dream  anew :  now,  prithee,  chide  me. 
Sickness  and  these  divisions  so  distract 
My  senses,  that  I  take  things  possible 
As  if  they  were ;  which  to  remove,  I  mean 
To  speed  me  straight  to  Lucca,  where,  perhaps, 
Absence  and  bathing  in  those  healthful  springs 
May  soon  recover  me  ;  meantime,  dear  sweet, 


356  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  iv. 

Pity  my  troubled  heart ;  griefs  are  extreme  : 

Yet,  sweet,  when  I  am  gone,  think  on  my  dream. — 

Who  waits  without,  ho  ! 

Enter  PETRUCHIO,  NIBRASSA,   FIORMONDA,   D'AvoLOS, 
ROSEILLI  disguised  as  before,  and  FERNANDO. 

Is  provision  ready, 
To  pass  to  Lucca  ? 

Pet.  It  attends  your  highness, 

Duke.  Friend,  hold ;    take  here  from  me  this  jewel, 
this :  [Gives  BIANCA  to  FERNANDO. 

Be  she  your  care  till  my  return  from  Lucca, 
Honest  Fernando. — Wife,  respect  my  friend. — 
Let's  go : — but  hear  ye,  wife,  think  on  my  dream. 

[Exeunt  all  but  ROSEILLI  and  PETRUCHIO. 

Pet.  Cousin,    one    word   with     you  :    doth    not    this 

cloud 

Acquaint  you  with  strange  novelties  ?     The  duke 
Is"  lately  much  distempered  :  what  he  means 
By  journeying  now  to  Lucca,  is  to  me 
A  riddle  ;  can  you  clear  my  doubt ; 

Ros.  O,  sir, 

My  fears  exceed  my  knowledge,  yet  I  note 
No  less  than  you  infer  ;  all  is  not  well ; 
Would  'twere  !  whosoe'er  thrive,  I  shall  be  sure 
Never  to  rise  to  my  unhoped  desires. 
But,  cousin,  I  shall  tell  you  more  anon  : 
Meantime,  pray  send  my  Lord  Fernando  to  me ; 
I  covet  much  to  speak  with  him. 

Pet.  And  see, 

He  comes  himself;  I'll  leave  you  both  together.       [Exit. 

Re-enter  FERNANDO. 

Fern.  The    duke   is   horsed   for   Lucca.     How   now, 

coz, 
How  prosper  you  in  love? 


SCENE  II.]          LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  357 

Ros.  As  still  I  hoped.1— 

My  lord,  you  are  undone. 

Fern.  Undone  !  in  what  ? 

Ros.  Lost ;  and  I  fear  your  life  is  bought  and  sold  ; 
I'll  tell  you  how.     Late  in  my  lady's  chamber 
As  I  by  chance  lay  slumbering  on  the  mats, 
In  comes  the  lady  marquess,  and  with  her 
Julia  and  D'Avolos  ;  where  sitting  down, 
Not  doubting  me,  "  Madam,"  quoth  D'Avolos, 
"  We  have  discovered  now  the  nest  of  shame." 
In  short,  my  lord, — for  you  already  know 
As  much  as,  they  reported, — there  was  told 
The  circumstance  of  all  your  private  love 
And  meeting  with  the  duchess ;  when,  at  last, 
False  D'Avolos  concluded  with  an  oath, 
"  We'll  make,"  quoth  he,   "  his  heart-strings  crack  for 
this." 

Fern.  Speaking  of  me  ? 

Ros.  Of  you  ;  "  Ay,"  quoth  the  marquess, 

"  Were  not  the  duke  a  baby,  he  would  seek 
Swift  vengeance ;  for  he  knew  it  long  ago." 

Fern.  Let  him  know  it ;  yet  I  vow 
She  is  as  loyal  in  her  plighted  faith 
As  is  the  sun  in  Heaven  :  but  put  case 
She  were  not,  and  the  duke  did  know  she  were  not ; 
This  sword  lifted  up,  and  guided  by  this  arm, 
Shall  guard  her  from  an  armed  troop  of  fiends 
And  all  the  earth  beside. 

Ros.  You  are  too  safe 

In  your  destruction. 

Fern.  Damn  him  ! — he  shall  feel — 

But  peace  !  who  comes  ? 

Enter  COLONA. 

Col.  My  lord,  the  duchess  craves 

A  word  with  you. 

1  Expected. 


358 


LOVE'S  SACRIFICE. 


Where  is  she  ? 


[ACT  iv. 


Fern. 

Col.  In  her  chamber. 

Ros.  Here,  have  a  plum  for  ie'ee — 

Col.  Come,  fool,  I'll  give  thee  plums  enow ;  come,  fool. 

Fern.  Let  slaves  in  mind  be  servile  to  their  fears ; 

Our  heart  is  high  instarred  in  brighter  spheres. 

{Exeunt  FERNANDO  and  COLONA. 
Ros.  I  see  him  lost  already. 
If  all  prevail  not,  we  shall  know  too  late 
No  toil  can  shun  the  violence  of  fate. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

SCENE  l.-The  Palace.     The  Duchess's  Bedchamber. 

BIANCA  discovered  in  her  night-attire,  leaning  on  a  cushion 
at  a  table,  holding  FERNANDO  by  the  hand.  Enter 
above  FIORMONDA. 

IOR.    [Aside]    Now  fly,  Revenge,  and 

wound  the  lower  earth, 
That  I,  insphered   above,   may  cross 

the  race 
Of  love  despised,    and    triumph   o'er 

their  graves 
Who  scorn  the  low-bent  thraldom  of  my  heart ! 

Bian.   Why  shouldst  thou  not  be  mine  ?   why  should 
The  iron  laws  of  ceremony,  bar  [the  laws, 

Mutual  embraces  ?  what's  a  vow  ?  a  vow  ? 
Can  there  be  sin  in  unity  ?  could  I 
As  well  dispense  with  conscience  as  renounce 
The  outside  of  my  titles,  the  poor  style 
Of  duchess,  I  had  rather  change  my  life 
With  any  waiting-woman  in  the  land 
To  purchase  one  night's  rest  with  thee,  Fernando, 
Than  be  Caraffa's  spouse  a  thousand  years. 

Fior.  [Aside]  Treason  to  wedlock !  this  would  make 

you  sweat. 
Fern.  Lady  of  all J as  before, 

1  This  is   the  largest   lacuna   in   Ford's  works.     Several  lines 
appear  to  have  fallen  out. 


360  L O  VE ' S  SA  CRIFICE.  [ACT  v. 

.     .     .     what  I  am,     .     .     . 

To  survive  you,  or  I  will  see  you  first 

Or  widowed  or  buried  :  if  the  last, 

By  all  the  comfort  I  can  wish  to  taste, 

By  your  fair  eyes,  that  sepulchre  that  holds 

Your  coffin  shall  iucoffin  me  alive ; 

I  sign  it  with  this  seal.  \Kisses  her. 

Fior.  [Aside]  Ignoble  strumpet ! 

Bian.  You  shall  not  swear ;  take  off  that  oath  again, 
Or  thus  I  will  enforce  it.  \Kisses  him. 

Fern.  Use  that  force, 

And  make  me  perjured ;  for  whiles  your  lips 
Are  made  the  book,  it  is  a  sport  to  swear, 
And  glory  to  forswear. 

Fior.   [Aside]  Here's  fast  and  loose  ! 

Which,  for  a  ducat,  now  the  game's  on  foot  ? 

Whilst  they  are  kissing,  the  Duke  and  D'AVOLOS,  with 
their  swords  drawn,  appear  at  the  door,  followed  by 
PETRUCHIO,  NIBRASSA,  and  a  Guard. 

Col.  [  Within]  Help,  help  !  madam,  you  are  betrayed, 
madam  ;  help,  help  ! 

D'Av.  [Aside  to  Duke]  Is  there  confidence  in  credit, 
now,  sir  ?  belief  in  your  own  eyes  ?  do  you  see  ?  do  you 
see,  sir?  can  you  behold  it  without  lightning? 

Col.   [  Within}  Help,  madam,  help  ! 

Fern.  What  noise  is  that  ?    I  heard  one  cry. 

Duke  [Comes forward]  Ha,  did  you? 

Know  you  who  I  am  ? 

Fern.  Yes ;  thou'rt  Pavy's  duke, 

Dressed  like  a  hangman  :  see,  I  am  unarmed, 
Yet  do  not  fear  thee ;  though  the  coward  doubt 
Of  what  I  could  have  done  hath  made  thee  steal 
The  advantage  of  this  time,  yet,  duke,  I  dare 
Thy  worst,  for  murder  sits  upon  thy  cheeks  : 
To't,  man  ! 

Duke.         I  am  too  angry  in  my  rage 


SCENE  I.]  LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  361 

To  scourge  thee  unprovided. — Take  him  hence  ; 

Away  with  him  !  [T/te  Guard  seize  FERNANDO. 

Fern.  Unhand  me ! 

D' Ar.  You  must  go,  sir. 

Fern.  Duke,  do  not  shame  thy  manhood  to  lay  hands 
On  that  most  innocent  lady. 

Duke.  Yet  again  ! — 

Confine  him  to  his  chamber. 

{Exeunt  D'AVOLOS  and  the  Guard  with  FERNANDO. 

Leave  us  all ; 
None  stay,  not  one  ;  shut  up  the  doors. 

{Exeunt  PETRUCHIO  and  NIBRASSA. 

Fior.  Now  show  thyself  my  brother,  brave  Caraffa. 

Duke.    Woman,    stand    forth   before   me ; — wretched 
What  canst  thou  hope  for  ?  [whore, 

Bian.  Death  ;  I  wish  no  less. 

You  told  me  you  had  dreamt ;  and,  gentle  duke, 
Unless  you  be  mistook,  you're  now  awaked. 

Duke.  Strumpet,  I  am  ;  and  in  my  hand  hold  up 
The  edge  that  must  uncut  thy  twist  of  life : 
Dost  thou  not  shake  ? 

Bian.  For  what  ?  to  see  a  weak, 

Faint,  trembling  arm  advance  a  leaden  blade  ? 
Alas,  good  man  !  put  up,  put  up  ;  thine  eyes 
Are  likelier  much  to  weep  than  arms  to  strike  : 
What  would  you  do  now,  pray  ? 

Duke.  What !  shameless  harlot ! 

Rip  up  the  cradle  of  thy  cursed  womb, 
In  which  the  mixture  of  that  traitor's  lust 
Imposthumes  for  a  birth  of  bastardy. 
Yet  come,  and  if  thou  think'st  thou  canst  deserve 
One  mite  of  mercy,  ere  the  boundless  spleen 
Of  just-consuming  wrath  o'erswell  my  reason, 
Tell  me,  bad  woman,  tell  me  what  could  move 
Thy  heart  to  crave  variety  of  youth. 

Bian.   I'll  tell  ye,  if  you  needs  would  be  resolved  ; 
I  held  Fernando  much  the  properer  man. 


362  LO  VE ' S  SA  CRIFTCE.  [ACT  v. 

Duke.  Shameless,  intolerable  whore  ! 

Bian.  What  ails  you  ? 

Can  you  imagine,  sir,  the  name  of  duke 
Could  make  a  crooked  leg,  a  scambling l  foot, 
A  tolerable  face,  a  wearish2  hand, 
A  bloodless  lip,  or  such  an  untrimmed  beard 
As  yours,  fit  for  a  lady's  pleasure  ?  no  : 
I  wonder  you  could  think  'twere  possible, 
When  I  had  once  but  looked  on  your  Fernando, 
I  ever  could  love  you  again  ;  fie,  fie  ! 
Now,  by  my  life,  I  thought  that  long  ago 
Y'  had  known  it,  and  been  glad  you  had  a  friend 
Your  wife  did  think  so  well  of. 

Duke,  O  my  stars  ! 

Here's  impudence  above  all  history. 
Why,  thou  detested  reprobate  in  virtue, 
Dar'st  thou,  without  a  blush,  before  mine  eyes 
Speak  such  immodest  language  ? 

Bian.  Dare  !  yes,  'faith, 

You  see  I  dare  :  I  know  what  you  would  say  now  ; 
You  would  fain  tell  me  how  exceeding  much 
I  am  beholding  to  you,  that  vouchsafed 
Me,  from  a  simple  gentlewoman's  place, 
The  honour  of  your  bed  :  'tis  true,  you  did ; 
But  why  ?  'twas  but  because  you  thought  I  had 
A  spark  of  beauty  more  than  you  had  seen. 
To  answer  this,  my  reason  is  the  like  ; 
The  self-same  appetite  which  led  you  on 
To  marry  me  led  me  to  love  your  friend  : 
O,  he's  a  gallant  man  !  if  ever  yet 
Mine  eyes  beheld  a  miracle  composed 
Of  flesh  and  blood,  Fernando  has  my  voice. 
I  must  confess,  my  lord,  that  for  a  prince 
Handsome  enough  you  are,  and — and  no  more ; 
But  to  compare  yourself  with  him  !  trust  me, 
You  are  too  much  in  fault.     Shall  I  advise  you  ? 

1  Sprawling.  2  Withered. 


SCENE  I.]  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  363 

Hark  in  your  ear ;  thank  Heaven  he  was  so  slow 
As  not  to  wrong  your  sheets  ;  for,  as  I  live, 
The  fault  was  his,  not  mine. 

Fior.  Take  this,  take  all. 

Duke.  Excellent,  excellent !  the  pangs  of  death 
Are  music  to  this. — 

Forgive  me,  my  good  genius  ;  I  had  thought 
I  matched  a  woman,  but  I  find  she  is 
A  devil,  worser  than  the  worst  in  hell. — 
Nay,  nay,  since  we  are  in,  e'en  come,  say  on  ; 
I  mark  you  to  a  syllable  :  you  say 
The  fault  was  his,  not  yours  ;  why,  virtuous  mistress, 
Can  you  imagine  you  have  so  much  art 
Which  may  persuade  me  you  and  your  close  markman 
Did  not  a  little  traffic  in  my  right  ? 

Bian.  Look,  what  I  said,  'tis  true ;  for,  know  it  now, — 
I  must  confess  I  missed  no  means,  no  time, 
To  win  him  to  my  bosom ;  but  so  much, 
So  holily,  with  such  religion, 
He  kept  the  laws  of  friendship,  that  my  suit 
Was  held  but,  in  comparison,  a  jest ; 
Nor  did  I  ofter  urge  the  violence 
Of  my  affection,  but  as  oft  he  urged 
The  sacred  vows  of  faith  'twixt  friend  and  friend  : 
Yet  be  assured,  my  lord,  if  ever  language 
Of  cunning  servile  flatteries,  entreaties, 
Or  what  in  me  is,  could  procure  his  love, 
I  would  not  blush  to  speak  it. 

Duke.  Such  another 

As  thou  art,  miserable  creature,  would 
Sink  the  whole  sex  of  women  :  yet  confess 
What  witchcraft  used  the  wretch  to  charm  the  heart 
Of  the  once  spotless  temple  of  thy  mind  ? 
For  without  witchcraft  it  could  ne'er  be  done. 

Bian.  Phew! — an  you  be  in  these  tunes,  sir,  I'll  leave;1 
You  know  the  best  and  worst  and  all. 

1  i.e.  Leave  off,  say  no  more. 


364  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  v. 

Duke.  Nay,  then, 

Thou  tempt'st  me  to  thy  ruin.     Come,  black  angel, 
Fair  devil,  in  thy  prayers  reckon  up 
The  sum  in  gross  of  all  thy  veined  l  follies  ; 
There,  amongst  others,  weep  in  tears  of  blood 
For  one  above  the  rest,  adultery  ! 
Adultery,  Bianca  !  such  a  guilt 
As,  were  the  sluices  of  thine  eyes  let  up, 
Tears  cannot  wash  it  off :  'tis  not  the  tide 
Of  trivial  wantonness  from  youth  to  youth, 
But  thy  abusing  of  thy  lawful  bed, 
Thy  husband's  bed  ;  his  in  whose  breast  thou  sleep'st, 
His  that  did  prize  thee  more  than  all  the  trash 
Which  hoarding  worldlings  make  an  idol  of. 
When  thou  shalt  find  the  catalogue  enrolled 
Of  thy  misdeeds,  there  shall  be  writ  in  text 
Thy  bastarding  the  issues  of  a  prince. 
Now 'turn  thine  eyes  into  thy  hovering  soul, 
And  do  not  hope  for  life  ;  would  angels  sing 
A  requiem  at  my  hearse  but  to  dispense 
With  my  revenge  on  thee,  'twere  all  in  vain  : 
Prepare  to  die  ! 

Bian.  \Opens  her  bosoni\  I  do  ;  and  to  the  point 
Of  thy  sharp  sword  with  open  breast  I'll  run 
Half  way  thus  naked  ;  do  not  shrink,  Caraffa  ; 
This  daunts  not  me  :  but  in  the  latter  act 
Of  thy  revenge,  'tis  all  the  suit  I  ask 
At  my  last  gasp,  to  spare  thy  noble  friend  ; 
For  life  to  me  without  him  were  a  death. 

Duke.  Not    this ;    I'll    none    of    this ;    'tis    not    so 

fit- 
Why  should  I  kill  her  ?  she  may  live  and  change, 
Or—  \Throws  down  his  sword. 

Fior.  Dost  thou  halt  ?  faint  coward,  dost  thou  wish 
To  blemish  all  thy  glorious  ancestors  ? 
Is  this  thy  courage  ? 

1  i.e.  In  the  blood. 


SCENE  ii.]          LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  .365 

Duke.  Ha  !  say  you  so  too  ? — 

Give  me  thy  hand,  Bianca. 

Bian.  Here. 

Duke.  Farewell ; 

Thus  go  in  everlasting  sleep  to  dwell ! 

[Draws  his  dagger  and  stabs  her. 
Here's  blood  for  lust,  and  sacrifice  for  wrong. 

Bian.  'Tis  bravely  done;    thou  hast  struck  home  at 

once  : 

Live  to  repent  too  late.     Commend  my  love 
To  thy  true  friend,  my  love  to  him  that  owes  l  it ; 
My  tragedy  to  thee ;  my  heart  to — to — Fernando. 
O— O  !  [Dies. 

Duke.  Sister,  she's  dead. 

Fior.  Then,  whiles  thy  rage  is  warm 

Pursue  the  causer  of  her  trespass. 

Dukf.  Good : 

I'll  slack  no  time  whiles  I  am  hot  in  blood. 

[  Takes  up  his  sword  and  exit. 

Fior.  Here's  royal  vengeance  !  this  becomes  the  state 

Of  his  disgrace  and  my  unbounded  hate.     [Exit  above. 


SCENE  II. — An  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  FERNANDO,  NIBRASSA,  and  PETRUCHIO. 

Pet.  May  we  give  credit  to  your  words,  my  lord  ? 
Speak,  on  your  honour. 

Fern.  Let  me  die  accursed, 

If  ever,  through  the  progress  of  my  life, 
I  did  as  much  as  reap  the  benefit 
Of  any  favour  from  her  save  a  kiss : 
A  better  woman  never  blessed  the  earth. 

Nib.  Beshrew  my  heart,  young  lord,  but  I  believe  thee  : 
alas,  kind  lady,  'tis  a  lordship  to  a  dozen  of  points 2  but 

1  Owns.  2  Tagged  laces. 


366  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  v. 

the  jealous   madman  will   in    his   fury   offer   her   some 
violence. 

Pet.   If  it  be  thus,  'twere  fit  you  rather  kept 
A  guard  about  you  for  your  own  defence 
Than  to  be  guarded  for  security 
Of  his  revenge  ;  he  is  extremely  moved. 

Nib.  Passion  of  my  body,  my  lord,  if  he  come  in  his 
odd  fits  to  you,  in  the  case  you  are,  he  might  cut  your 
throat  ere  you  could  provide  a  weapon  of  defence :  nay, 
rather  than  it  shall  be  so,  hold,  take  my  sword  in  your 
hand  ;  'tis  none  of  the  sprucest,  but  'tis  a  tough  fox l  will 
not  fail  his  master,  come  what  will  come.  Take  it ;  I'll 
answer't,  I :  in  the  mean  time  Petruchio  and  I  will  back  to 
the  duchess'  lodging.  [Gives  FERNANDO  his  sword. 

Pet.  Well  thought  on  ; — and,  despite  of  all  his  rage, 
Rescue  the  virtuous  lady. 

Nib.  Look  to  yourself,  my  lord  !  the  duke  comes. 

Enter  the  Duke,  a  sword  in  one  hand,  and  a  bloody  dagger 
in  the  other. 

Duke.  Stand,  and  behold  thy  executioner, 
Thou  glorious  traitor  !  I  will  keep  no  form 
Of  ceremonious  law  to  try  thy  guilt : 
Look  here,  'tis  written  on  my  poniard's  point, 
The  bloody  evidence  of  thy  untruth, 
Wherein  thy  conscience  and  the  wrathful  rod 
Of  Heaven's  scourge  for  lust  at  once  give  up 
The  verdict  of  thy  crying  villainies. 
I  see  thou'rt  armed   :  prepare,  I  crave  no  odds 
Greater  than  is  the  justice  of  my  cause ; 
Fight,  or  I'll  kill  thee. 

Fern.  Duke,  I  fear  thee  not : 

But  first  I  charge  thee,  as  thou  art  a  prince, 
Tell  me  how  hast  thou  used  thy  duchess  ? 

Duke.  How ! 

To  add  affliction  to  thy  trembling  ghost, 
Look  on  my  dagger's  crimson  dye,  and  judge. 
1  Sword. 


ii.]          LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  367 

Fern.  Not  dead  ? 

Duke.  Not  dead  !  yes,  by  my  honour's  truth  :  why, 

fool, 

Dost  think  I'll  hug  my  injuries  ?  no,  traitor  ! 
I'll  mix  your  souls  together  in  your  deaths, 
As  you  did  both  your  bodies  in  her  life. — 
Have  at  thee ! 

Fern.  Stay  ;  I  yield  my  weapon  up. 

\He  drops  his  sword. 

Here,  here's  my  bosom :  as  thou  art  a  duke, 
Dost  honour  goodness,  if  the  chaste  Bianca 
Be  murdered,  murder  me. 

Duke.  Faint-hearted  coward, 

Art  thou  so  poor  in  spirit !     Rise  and  fight ; 
Or,  by  the  glories  of  my  house  and  name, 
I'll  kill  thee  basely. 

Fern.  Do  but  hear  me  first : 

Unfortunate  Caraffa,  thou  hast  butchered 
An  innocent,  a  wife  as  free  from  lust 
As  any  terms  of  art  can  deify. 

Duke.  Pish,  this  is  stale  dissimulation  ; 
I'll  hear  no  more. 

Fern.  If  ever  I  unshrined 

The  altar  of  her  purity,  or  tasted 
More  of  her  love  than  what  without  control 
Or  blame  a  brother  from  a  sister  might, 
Rack  me  to  atomies.     I  must  confess 
I  have  too  much  abused  thee ;  did  exceed 
In  lawless  courtship  ;  'tis  too  true,  I  did  : 
But,  by  the  honour  which  I  owe  to  goodness, 
For  any  actual  folly  I  am  free. 

Duke.  'Tis  false  :  as  much  in  death  for  thee  she  spake. 

Fern.  By  yonder  starry  roof,  'tis  true.     O  duke  ! 
Couldst  thou  rear  up  another  world  like  this, 
Another  like  to  that,  and  more,  or  more, 
Herein  thou  art  most  wretched  ;  all  the  wealth 
Of  all  those  worlds  could  not  redeem  the  loss 


368  LOVE'S  SACRIFICE.  [ACT  v. 

Of  such  a  spotless  wife.     Glorious  Bianca, 
Reign  in  the  triumph  of  thy  martyrdom  ; 
Earth  was  unworthy  of  thee  ! 

Nib.  and  Pet.  Now,  on  our  lives,  we  both  believe  him. 

Duke.  Fernando,  dar'st  thou  swear  upon  my  sword 
To  justify  thy  words  ? 

Fern.  I  dare ;  look  here.     \Kisses  the  sword. 

'Tis  not  the  fear  of  death  doth  prompt  my  tongue, 
For  I  would  wish  to  die  ;  and  thou  shall  know, 
Poor  miserable  duke,  since  she  is  dead, 
I'll  hold  all  life  a  hell. 

Duke.  Bianca  chaste  ! 

Fern.  As  virtue's  self  is  good. 

Duke.  Chaste,  chaste,  and  killed  by  me  !  to  her 
I  offer  up  this  remnant  of  my — 

\Offers  to  stab  himself,  and  is  stayed  by  FERNANDO. 

Fern.  Hold  ! 

Be  gentler  to  thyself. 
'  Pet.  Alas,  my  lord, 

Is  this  a  wise  man's  carriage  ? 

Duke.  Whither  now 

Shall  I  run  from  the  day,  where  never  man, 
Nor  eye,  nor  eye  of  Heaven  may  see  a  dog 
So  hateful  as  I  am  ?     Bianca  chaste  ! 
Had  not  the  fury  of  some  hellish  rage 
Blinded  all  reason's  sight,  I  must  have  seen 
Her  clearness  in  her  confidence  to  die. 
Your  leave — 

\Kneels,  holds  up  his  hands,  and,  after  speaking 
to  himself  a  little,  rises. 
'Tis  done  :  come,  friend,  now  for  her  love, 
Her  love  that  praised  thee  in  the  pangs  of  death, 
I'll  hold  thee  dear. — Lords,  do  not  care  for  me, 
I  am  too  wise  to  die  yet. — O,  Bianca  ! 

Enter  D'AvOLOS. 
D'Av.  The   Lord  Abbot   of  Monaco,    sir,  is,  in  his 


SCENE  in.]          LOVE'S  SA ORIFICE.  369 

return  from  Rome,  lodged  last  night  late  in  the  city  very 
privately ;  and  hearing  the  report  of  your  journey,  only 
intends  to  visit  your  duchess  to-morrow. 

Duke.  Slave,   torture  me   no   more  ! — note   him,   my 

lords  ; 

If  you  would  choose  a  devil  in  the  shape 
Of  man,  an  arch-arch-devil,  there  stands  one. — 
We'll  meet  our  uncle. — Order  straight,  Petruchio, 
Our  duchess  may  be  coffined  ;  'tis  our  will 
She  forthwith  be  interred,  with  all  the  speed 
And  privacy  you  may,  i'  the  college-church 
Amongst  Caraffa's  ancient  monuments  : 
Some  three  days  hence  we'll  keep  her  funeral. — 
Damned  villain  !  bloody  villain  ! — O,  Bianca  ! — 

No  counsel  from  our  cruel  wills  can  win  us ; 

But  ills  once  done,  we  bear  our  guilt  within  us. 

{Exeunt  all  but  D'AVOLOS. 

D "  Av.  Good  b'wi'ye  !  "  Arch-arch-devil  !  "  why,  I  am 
paid.  Here's  bounty  for  good  service  !  beshrew  my 
heart,  it  is  a  right  princely  reward.  Now  must  I  say  my 
prayers,  that  I  have  lived  to  so  ripe  an  age  to  have 
my  head  stricken  off.  I  cannot  tell ;  't  may  be  my  Lady 
Fiormonda  will  stand  on  my  behalf  to  the  duke :  that's 
but  a  single  hope  ;  a  disgraced  courtier  oftener  finds 
enemies  to  sink  him  when  he  is  falling  than  friends  to 
relieve  him.  I  must  resolve  to  stand  to  the  hazard  of  all 
brunts  now.  Come  what  may,  I  will  not  die  like  a 
coward ;  and  the  world  shall  know  it.  [Exit. 


SCENE  III. — Another  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 

i 
Enter  FIORMONDA,  and  ROSEILLI  discovering  himself. 

Ros.  Wonder  not,  madam  ;  here  behold  the  man 
Whom  your  disdain  hath  metamorphosed. 
Thus  long  have  I  been  clouded  in  this  shape, 

Ford.  B  B 


370  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  v. 

Led  on  by  love  ;  and  in  that  love,  despair : 
If  not  the  sight  of  our  distracted  court, 
Nor  pity  of  my  bondage,  can  reclaim 
The  greatness  of  your  scorn,  yet  let  me  know 
My  latest  doom  from  you. 

Fior.  Strange  miracle  ! 

Roseilli,  I  must  honour  thee  :  thy  truth, 
Like  a  transparent  mirror,  represents 
My  reason  with  my  errors.     Noble  lord, 
That  better  dost  deserve  a  better  fate, 
Forgive  me  :  if  my  heart  can  entertain 
Another  thought  of  love,  it  shall  be  thine. 

Ros.  Blessed,  for  ever  blessed  be  the  words  ! 
In  death  you  have  revived  me. 

Enter  D'AVOLOS. 

D'Av.  \Aside\  Whom  have  we  here  ?  Roseilli,  the 
supposed  fool?  'tis  he;  nay,  then,  help  me  a  brazen 
face  ! — My  honourable  lord  ! — 

Ros.  Bear  off,  bloodthirsty  man  !  come  not  near  me. 

D'Av.  Madam,  I  trust  the  service— 

Fior.  Fellow,  learn  to  new-live :  the  way  to  thrift 

For  thee  in  grace  is  a  repentant  shrift. 

Ros.  Ill  has  thy  life  been,  worse  will  be  thy  end  ; 

Men  fleshed  in  blood  know  seldom  to  amend. 

Enter  Servant, 

Ser.  His  highness  commends  his  love  to  you,  and 
expects  your  presence ;  he  is  ready  to  pass  to  the  church, 
only  staying  for  my  lord  abbot  to  associate  him. — Withal, 
his  pleasure  is,  that  you,  D'Avolos,  forbear  to  rank  in  this 
solemnity  in  the  place  of  secretary  ;  else  to  be  there  as  a 
private  man. — Pleaseth  you  to  go? 

[Exeunt  all  but  D'AVOLOS. 

D'Av.  As  a  private  man  !  what  remedy  ?  This  way 
they  must  come;  and  here  I  will  stand,  to  fall  amongst 
'em  in  the  rear, 


SCENE  in.]          LO I '/:  'S  SA CRJFICE.  371 

A  solemn  strain  of  soft  music.     The  Scene  opens,  and  dis 
covers  the  Church,  with  a  tomb  in  the  background. 

Enter  Attendants  with  torches,  after  them  two  Friars  ;  then 
the  Duke  in  mourning  manner ;  after  him  the  Abbot, 

FlORMONDA,  COLONA,  JULIA,  ROSEILLI,  PETRUCHIO, 

NIBRASSA,  and  a  Guard.— D' A.VOLQS  fotfaws.  When 
the  procession  approaches  the  tomb  they  all  kneel.  The 
Duke  goes  to  the  tomb,  and  lays  his  hand  on  it.  The 
music  ceases. 

Duke.  Peace  and  sweet  rest  sleep  here  !     Let  not  the 

touch 

Of  this  my  impious  hand  profane  the  shrine 
Of  fairest  purity,  which  hovers  yet 
About  those  blessed  bones  inhearsed  within. 
If  in  the  bosom  of  this  sacred  tomb, 
Bianca,  thy  disturbed  ghost  doth  range, 
Behold,  I  offer  up  the  sacrifice 
Of  bleeding  tears,  shed  from  a  faithful  spring, 
Pouring  oblations  of  a  mourning  heart 
To  thee,  offended  spirit !     I  confess 
I  am  Caraffa,  he,  that  wretched  man, 
That  butcher,  who,  in  my  enraged  spleen, 
Slaughtered  the  life  of  innocence  and  beauty. 
Now  come  I  to  pay  tribute  to  those  wounds 
Which  I  digged  up,  and  reconcile  the  wrongs 
My  fury  wrought  and  my  contrition  mourns, 
So  chaste,  so  dear  a  wife  was  never  man 
But  1  enjoyed  ;  yet  in  the  bloom  and  pride 
Of  all  her  years  untimely  took  her  life. — 
Enough  :  set  ope  the  tomb,  that  I  may  take 
My  last  farewell,  and  bury  griefs  with  her. 

\Thc  tomb  is  opened,  out  of  which  rises  FKKNANDO 
in  his  winding-sited,  his  face  only  uncovered ; 
as  the  Duke  is  going  in  he  puts  him  back. 

Fern.  Forbear  !  what  art  thou  that  dost  rudely  press 
Into  the  confines  of  forsaken  graves  ? 


372  LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  [ACT  v. 

Has  death  no  privilege  ?     Com'st  thou,  Caraffa, 

To  practise  yet  a  rape  upon  the  dead  ? 

Inhuman  tyrant ! — 

Whats'ever  thou  intendest,  know  this  place 

Is  pointed  out  for  my  inheritance  ; 

Here  lies  the  monument  of  all  my  hopes : 

Had  eager  lust  intrunked  my  conquered  soul, 

I  had  not  buried  living  joys  in  death. 

Go,  revel  in  thy  palace,  and  be  proud 

To  boast  thy  famous  murders  ;  let  thy  smooth, 

Low-fawning  parasites  renown  thy  act : 

Thou  com'st  not  here. 

Duke.  Fernando,  man  of  darkness, 

Never  till  now,  before  these  dreadful  sights, 
Did  I  abhor  thy  friendship  :  thou  hast  robbed 
My  resolution  of  a  glorious  name. 
Come  out,  \>r,  by  the  thunder  of  my  rage, 
Thou  diest  a  death  more  fearful  than  the  scourge 
Of  death  can  whip  thee  with. 

Fern.  Of  death  ! — poor  duke  ! 

Why,  that's  the  aim  I  shoot  at ;  'tis  not  threats — 
Maugre  thy  power,  or  the  spite  of  hell — 
Shall  rend  that  honour  :  let  life-hugging  slaves, 
Whose  hands  imbrued  in  butcheries  like  thine 
Shake  terror  to  their  souls,  be  loth  to  die  ! 
See,  I  am  clothed  in  robes  that  fit  the  grave  : 
I  pity  thy  defiance. 

Duke.  Guard,  lay  hands, 

And  drag  him  out. 

Fern.  Yes,  let  'em  \  here's  my  shield ; 

Here's  health  to  victory  ! 

[As  the  Guard  go  to  seize  him,  he  drinks-off 
a  phial  of  'poison. 

Now  do  thy  worst. — 

Farewell,  duke  !  once  I  have  outstripped  thy  plots  j 
Not  all  the  cunning  antidotes  of  art 
Can  warrant  me  twelve  minutes  of  my  life  : 


SCENE  ill.]          LOVE'S  SA CRIFICE.  .  3 7.3 

It  works,  it  works  already,  bravely  !  bravely  ! 
Now,  now  I  feel  it  tear  each  several  joint. 

0  royal  poison  !  trusty  friend  !  split,  split 
Both  heart  and  gall  asunder,  excellent  bane  ! 
Roseilli,  love  my  memory. — Well  searched  out, 
Swift,  nimble  venom  !  torture  every  vein. — 

1  come,  Bianca — cruel  torment,  feast, 

Feast  on,  do— -Duke,  farewell. — Thus  I — hot  flames  ! — 
Conclude  my  love, — and  seal  it  in  my  bosom  ! 

0  !  {Dies. 
Abbot.  Most  desperate  end  ! 

Duke.  None  stir ; 

Who  steps  a  foot  steps  to  his  utter  ruin. — 
And  art  thou  gone,  Fernando  ?  art  thou  gone  ? 
Thou  wert  a  friend  unmatched  ;  rest  in  thy  fame. — 
Sister,  when  I  have  finished  my  last  days, 
Lodge  me,  my  wife,  and  this  unequalled  friend, 
All  in  one  monument. — Now  to  my  yows. 
Never  henceforth  let  any  passionate l  tongue 
Mention  Bianca's  and  Ca?raffa's  name, 
But  let  each  letter  in  that  tragic  sound 
Beget  a  sigh,  and  every  sigh  a  tear ; 
Children  unborn,  and  widows  whose  lean  cheeks 
Are  furrowed  up  by  age,  shall  weep  whole  nights, 
Repeating  but  the  story  of  our  fates  ; 
Whiles  in  the  period,  closing  up  their  tale, 
They  must  conclude  how  for  Bianca's  love 
Caraffa,  in  revenge  of  wrongs  to  her, 
Thus  on  her  altar  sacrificed  his  life.  [Mafis  himself. 

Abbot.  O,  hold  the  duke's  hand  ! 

Fior.  Save  my  brother,  save  him  ! 

Duke.  Do,  do  ;  I  was  too  willing  to  strike  home 
To  be  prevented.     Fools,  why,  could  you  dream 

1  would  outlive  my  outrage?— Sprightful  flood, 
Run  out  in  rivers  !     O,  that  these  thick  streams 
Could  gather  head,  and  make  a  standing  pool. 

1  Sorrow,  ul. 


374  'LOVE'S  SA  CRIFICK.  [ACT  v. 

That  jealous  husbands  here  might  bathe  in  blood  ! 

So  !  I  grow  sweetly  empty  ;  all  the  pipes 

Of  life  unvessel  life. — Now  heavens,  wipe  out 

The  writing  of  my  sin  ! — Bianca,  thus 

I  creep  to  thee — to  thee — to  thee,  Bi — an-  -ca.         [Dies. 

Ros.   He's  dead  already,  madam. 

D'  Av.    \_Aside\  Above  hope  !  here's  labour  saved  ;    I 
could  bless  the  destinies. 

Abbot.  'Would  I  had  never  seen  it ! 

Fior.  Since  'tis  thus, 

My  Lord  Roseilli,  in  the  true  requital 
Of  your  continued  love,  I  here  possess 
You  of  the  dukedom,  and  with  it  of  me, 
In  presence  of  this  holy  abbot. 

Abbot.  Lady,  then,  - 

From  my  hand  take  your  husband ;  long  enjoy 

[Joins  their  hands. 
Each  to  each  other's  comfort  and  content ! 

All.  Long  live  Roseilli  ! 

Ros.  First,  thanks  to  Heaven ;  next,  lady,  to  your  love  ; 
Lastly,  my  lords,  to  all :  and  that  the  entrance 
Into  this  principality  may  give 
Fair  hopes  of  being  worthy  of  our  place, 
Our  first  work  shall  be  justice. — D'Avolos, 
Stand  forth. 

U '  Av.      My  gracious  lord  ! — 

Ros.  No,  graceless  villain  ! 

I  am  no  lord  of  thine. — Guard,  take  him  hence, 
Convey  him  to  the  prison's  top ;  in  chains 
Hang  him  alive ;  whosoe'er  lends  a  bit 
Of  bread  to  feed  him  dies. — Speak  not  against  it, 
I  will  be  deaf  to  mercy. — Bear  him  hence  ! 

D 'Av.  Mercy,  new  duke  ;  here's  my  comfort,  I  make 
but  one  in  the  number  of  the  tragedy  of  princes. 

\He  is  led  off. 

Ros.  Madam,  a  second  charge  is  to  perform 
Your  brother's  testament ;  we'll  rear  a  tomb 


SCENE  III. 


LOVE'S  SA  CRIFICE. 


375 


To  those  unhappy  lovers,  which  shall  tell 

Their  fatal  loves  to  all  posterity. — 

Thus,  then,  for  you  ;  henceforth  I  here  dismiss 

The  mutual  comforts  of  our  marriage-bed  : 

Learn  to  new-live,  my  vows  unmoved  shall  stand  ; 
And  since  your  life  hath  been  so  much  uneven, 
Bethink  in  time  to  make  your  peace  with  Heaven. 
Fior.  0.  me  !  is  this  your  love  ? 
Ros.  'Tis  your  desert ; 

Which  no  persuasion  shall  remove. 

Abbot.  'Tis  fit ; 

Purge  frailty  with  repentance. 

Fior.  I  embrace  it : 

Happy  too  late,  since  lust  hath  made  me  foul, 

Henceforth  I'll  dress  my  bride-bed  in  my  soul. 

Ros.  Please  you  to  walk,  lord  abbot  ? 

Abbot.  Yes,  set  on. 

No  age  hath  heard,  nor  chronicle  can  say, 

That  ever  here  befell  a  sadder  day.  [Exeunt. 


WzAT^BECK. 


WARE  EC  &  was  acted  at 

the  Phoenix  and  published  in  1634 
as  "a  chronicle  history."  Ford 
founded  it  on  Bacon's  Life  of 
Henry  VII. 

The  play  was  reprinted  in  1714,  a 
period  at  which  there  were  insurrec 
tionary  movements  in  Scotland.  In 

the  memorable  year  of  1745,  when  the  young  Pretender  ap 
peared,  Ford's  play  was  revived  (at  the  time  that  two 
other  plays  appeared  on  the  same  subject,  by  Macklin  and 
Elderton),  at  Goodman's  Fields  Theatre,  but  so  sym 
pathetic  a  picture  of  a  pretender  could  scarcely  have 
appealed  to  the  public  of  that  period. 

Schiller  left  behind  him  the  sketch  of  a  drama  called 
War  beck. 


To  his  worthy  Friend,  Master  John  Ford,  upon  his 
Perkin  Warbeck. 

Let  men  who  are  writ  poets  lay  a  claim 
To  the  Phcebean  hill,  I  have  no  name 
Nor  art  in  verse  :  true,  I  have  heard  some  tell 
Of  Aganippe,  but  ne'er  knew  the  well ; 
Therefore  have  no  ambition  with  the  times 
To  be  in  print,  for  making  of  ill  rhymes  ; 
But  love  of  thee,  and  justice  to  thy  pen, 
Hath  drawn  me  to  this  bar  with  other  men, 
To  justify,  though  against  double  laws, 
Waving  the  subtle  business  of  his  cause, 
The  glorious  Perkin,  and  thy  poet's  art, 
Equal  with  his  in  playing  the  king's  part. 

RA.  EURE,  barom's  primogenitus.1 


To  my  Friend  and  Kinsman,  Master  John  Ford,  tJie 
Author. 

Dramatic  poets,  as  the  times  go  now, 
Can  hardly  write  what  others  will  allow  ; 
The  cynic  snarls,  the  critic  howls  and  barks, 
And  ravens  croak  to  drown  the  voice  of  larks  : 
Scorn  those  stage-harpies  !     This  I'll  boldly  say, 
Many  may  imitate,  few  match  thy  play. 

JOHN  FORD,  Gratensis* 

1  The  son  of  William,  Lord  Eure. 

2  This  is  the  cousin  to  whom  Ford  dedicated  Love's  Sacrifice. 


To  the  Rightly  Honourable 

WILLIAM  CAVENDISH, 

EARL  OF  NEWCASTLE,  VISCOUNT  MANSFIELD,  LORD 
13OLSOVER  AND  OGLE.1 

My  Lord, 

UT  of  the  darkness  of  a  former  age, — en 
lightened  by  a  late  both  learned  and  an 
honourable  pen,2 — I  have  endeavoured 
to  personate  a  great  attempt,  and  in  it 
a  greater  danger.  In  other  labours 
you  may  read  actions  of  antiquity  dis 
coursed  ;  in  this  abridgment  find  the 
actors  themselves  discoursing,  in  some  kind  practised  as 
well  what  to  speak  as  speaking  why  to  do.  Your  lordship 
is  a  most  competent  judge  in  expressions  of  such  credit  ; 
commissioned  by  your  known  ability  in  examining,  and 
enabled  by  your  knowledge  in  determining,  the  monuments 
of  time..  Eminent  titles  may,  indeed,  inform  who  their 
owners  are,  not  often  what.  To  yours  the  addition  of  that 
information  in  both  cannot  in  any  application  be  observed 
flattery,  the  authority  being  established  by  truth.  I  can 
only  acknowledge  the  errors  in  writing  mine  own  ;  the 
worthiness  of  the  subject  written  being  a  perfection  in  the 
story  and  of  it.  The  custom  of  your  lordship's  entertain 
ments — even  to  strangers — is  rather  an  example  than  a 
fashion  :  in  which  consideration  I  dare  not  profess  a 
curiosity  ;  but  am  only  studious  that  your  lordship  will 
please,  amongst  such  as  best  honour  your  goodness,  to 
admit  into  your  noble  construction 

JOHN  FORD. 

1  William  Cavendish  (nephew  to  the  first  Earl  of  Devonshire), 
was  born  in  the  year  1592,  and  was  early  in  favour  with  James  1. 
He  continued   in   favour  with   Charles   I.,   2nd    engaged   on   the 
Royalist    side    during    the   civil    war.      He    wjs    created    Duke   of 
Newcastle  in  1665,  and  died  in  1676,  at  the  advanced  age  of  84. 

2  i.e.  That  of  Lord  Bacon. 


STUDIES  have  of  this  nature  been  of  late 

So  out  of  fashion,  so  unfollowed,  that 

It  is  become  more  justice  to  revive 

The  antic  follies  of  the  times  than  strive 

To  countenance  wise  industry  :  no  want 

Of  art  doth  render  wit  or  lame  or  scant 

Or  slothful  in  the  purchase  of  fresh  bays  ; 

But  want  of  truth  in  them  who  give  the  praise 

To  their  self-love,  presuming  to  out-do 

The  writer,  or — for  need — the  actors  too. 

But  such  this  author's  silence  best  befits, 

Who  bids  them  be  in  love  with  their  own  wits. 

From  him  to  clearer  judgments  we  can  say 

He  shows  a  history  couched  in  a  play ; 

A  history  of  noble  mention,  known, 

Famous,  and  true  ;  most  noble,  'cause  our  own  ; 

Not  forged  from  Italy,  from  France,  from  Spain, 

But  chronicled  at  home  ;  as  rich  in  strain 

Of  brave  attempts  as  ever  fertile  rage 

In  action  could  beget  to  grace  the  stage. 

We  cannot  limit  scenes,  for  the  whole  land 

Itself  appeared  too  narrow  to  withstand 

Competitors  for  kingdoms  ;   nor  is  here 

Un-necessary  mirth  forced  to  endear 

A  multitude  :  on  these  two  rests  the  fate 

Of  worthy  expectation, — truth  and  state. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS, 


HENRY  VII. 
Lord  DAWBENEY. 

Sir  WILLIAM  STANLEY,  Lord  Chamberlain. 
Earl  of  OXFORD. 
Earl  of  SURREY. 
FOX,  Bishop  of  Durham. 
URSWICK,  Chaplain  to  the  King. 
Sir  ROBERT  CLIFFORD. 
LAMBERT  SIMNEL. 
HlALAS,  a  Spanish  Agent. 
JAMES  IV.,  King  of  Scotland. 
Earl  of  HUNTLEY. 
Earl  of  CRAWFORD. 
Lord  DALYELL. 
MARCHMONT,  a  Herald. 
PERKIN  WARBECK. 
STEPHEN  FRION,  his  Secretary. 
JOHN  A-  WATER,  Mayor  of  Cork. 
HERON,  a  Mercer. 
SKELTON,  a  Tailor. 
ASTLEY,  a  Scrivener. 

Sheriff,    Constable,    Officers,     Messenger,    Guards, 
Soldiers,  Masquers,  and  Attendants. 

Lady  KATHERINE  GORDON. 

Countess  of  CRAWFORD. 

JANE  DOUGLAS,  Lady  Katherine's  attendant. 

SCENE  —  Partly  in  ENGLAND,  partly  in  SCOTLAND 


W^AT^BECK. 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

SCENE  I. —  Westminster.    The  royal  Presence-chamber. 

Enter  King  HENRY,  supported  to  the  throne  by  the  Bishop 
of  DURHAM  and  Sir  WILLIAM  STANLEY;  Earls  of 
OXFORD  and  SURREY,  and  Lord  DAWBENEY.  A 
Guard. 

ING  HEN.  Still   to   be  haunted,    still 

to  be  pursued, 

Still  to  be  frightened  with  false  appari 
tions 
Of  pageant   majesty   and   new-coined 

greatness, 
As  if  we  were  a  mockery  king  in  state, 
Only  ordained  to  lavish  sweat  and  blood, 
In  scorn  and  laughter,  to  the  ghosts  of  York, 
Is  all  below  our  merits  : '  yet,  my  lords, 
My  friends  and  counsellors,  yet  we  sit  fast 
In  our  own  royal  birthright ;  the  rent  face 

1  "At  this  time  the  king  began  again  to  be  haunted  with  spiites 
by  the  magic  and  curious  arts  of  the  Lady  Margaret,  who  raised  up 
the  ghost  of  Richard,  Duke  of  York,  second  son  to  King  Edward 
the  Fourth,  to  walk  and  vex  the  king,"  &c. — Bacon's  Henry  VII. 


384  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  i. 

And  bleeding  wounds  of  England's  slaughtered  people 
Have  been  by  us  as  by  the  best  physician, 
At  last  both  throughly  cured  and  set  in  safety ; 
And  yet,  for  all  this  glorious  work  of  peace, 
Ourselves  is  scarce  secure. 

Dur.  The  rag*e  of  malice 

Conjures  fresh  spirits  with  the  spells  of  York. 
For  ninety  years  ten  English  kings  and  princes, 
Threescore  great  dukes  and  earls,  a  thousand  lords 
And  valiant  knights,  two  hundred  fifty  thousand 
Of  English  subjects  have  in  civil  wars 
Been  sacrificed  to  an  uncivil  thirst 
Of  discord  and  ambition  :  this  hot  vengeance 
Of  the  just  powers  above  to  utter  ruin 
And  desolation  had  rained  on,  but  that 
Mercy  did  gently  sheathe  the  sword  of  justice, 
In  lending  to  this  blood-shrunk  commonwealth 
A  new  soul,  new  birth,  in  your  sacred  person. 

Daw.  Edward  the  Fourth,  after  a  doubtful  fortune, 
Yielded  to  nature,  leaving  to  his  sons, 
Edward  and  Richard,  the  inheritance 
Of  a  most  bloody  purchase  :  these  young  princes, 
Richard  the  tyrant,  their  unnatural  uncle, 
Forced  to  a  violent  grave : — so  just  is  Heaven, 
Him  hath  your  majesty  by  your  own  arm, 
Divinely  strengthened,  pulled  from  his  boar's  sty,1 
And  struck  the  black  usurper  to  a  carcass. 
Nor  doth  the  house  of  York  decay  in  honours, 
Though  Lancaster  doth  repossess  his  right ; 
For  Edward's  daughter  is  King  Henry's  queen, — 
A  blessed  union,  and  a  lasting  blessing 
For  this  poor  panting  island,  if  some  shreds, 
Some  useless  remnant  of  the  house  of  York 
Grudge  not  at  this  content. 

Oxf.  Margaret  of  Burgundy 

Blows  fresh  coals  of  division. 

1  An  allusion  to  the  armorial  bearings  of  Richard  III. 


SCENE  L]  PERKIN  WARtiECK.  385 

Sur.  Painted  fires, 

Without  or  heat  to  scorch  or  light  to  cherish. 

Daw.  York's   headless  trunk,  her  father ;    Edward's 

fate, 

Her  brother,  king ;  the  smothering  of  her  nephews 
By  tyrant  Gloster,  brother  to  her  nature ; 
Nor  Gloster's  own  confusion, — all  decrees 
Sacred  in  heaven, — can  move  this  woman-monster, 
But  that  she  still,  from  the  unbottomed  mine 
Of  devilish  policies,  doth  vent  the  ore 
Of  troubles  and  sedition. 

Oxf.  In  her  age — 

Great  sir,  observe  the  wonder1 — she  grows  fruitful, 
Who  in  her  strength  of  youth  was  always  barren  : 
Nor  are  her  births  as  other  mothers'  are, 
At  nine  or  ten  months'  end  ;  she  has  been  with  child 
Eight,  or  seven  years  at  least ;  whose  twins  being  born, — 
A  prodigy  in  nature, — even  the  youngest 
Is  fifteen  years  of  age  at  his  first  entrance, 
As  soon  as  known  i'  the  world  ;  tall  striplings,  strong 
And  able  to  give  battle  unto  kings, 
Idols  of  Yorkish  malice. 

Daw.  And  but  idols ; 

A  steely  hammer  crushes  'em  to  pieces. 

K.  Hen.  Lambert,  the  eldest,  lords,  is  in  our  service, 
Preferred  by  an  officious  care  of  duty 
From  the  scullery  to  a  falconer;2  strange  example! 
Which  shows  the  difference  between  noble  natures 
And  the  base-born :  but  for  the  upstart  duke, 

1  "It  is  the  strangest  thing  in  the  world,"  said  Henry's  ambas 
sador  to  the  archduke,  "  that  the  Lady  Margaret  should  now,  when 
she  is  old,  at  the  time  when  other  women  give-over  child-bearing, 
bring  forth  two  such  monsters,  being  not  the  births  of  nine  or  ten 
months,  but  of  many  years.     And  whereas  other  natural  mothers 
I  ring  forth  children  weak  and  not  able  to  help  themselves,  she 
bringeth  forth  tall  striplings,  able  soon  after  their  coming  into  the 
world  to  bid  battle  to  mighty  kings." 

2  Lambert  Simnel,  taken  prisoner  at   the  battle  of  Newark,  had 
been  made  a  turnspit  in  the  king's  kitchen,  and  was  afterwards  pro 
moted  to  the  office  of  undei  -falconer. 

Ford.  C  C 


386  PERK1N  WAR  BECK.  [ACT  I. 

The  new-revived  York,  Edward's  second  son, 
Murdered  long  since  i'  the  Tower, — he  lives  again, 
And  vows  to  be  your  king. 

Stan.  The  throne  is  filled,  sir. 

K.  Hen.  True,  Stanley ;  and  the  lawful  heir  sits  on  it : 
A  guard  of  angels  and  the  holy  prayers 
Of  loyal  subjects  are  a  sure  defence 
Against  all  force  and  council  of  intrusion. — 
But  now,  my  lords,  put  case,  some  of  our  nobles, 
Our  great  ones,  should  give  countenance  and  courage 
To  trim  Duke  Perkin  ;  you  will  all  confess 
Our  bounties  have  unthriftily  been  scattered 
Amongst  unthankful  men. 

Daw.  Unthankful  beasts, 

Dogs,  villains,  traitors  ! 

K.  Hen.  Dawbeney,  let  the  guilty 

Keep  silence  ;  I  accuse  none,  though  I  know 
Foreign  attempts  against  a  state  and  kingdom 
Are  seldom  without  some  great  friends  at  home. 

Stan.  Sir,  if  no  other  abler  reasons  else 
Of  duty  or  allegiance  could  divert 
A  headstrong  resolution,  yet  the  dangers 
So  lately  passed  by  men  of  blood  and  fortunes 
In  Lambert  Simnel's  party  must  command 
More  than  a  fear,  a  terror  to  conspiracy. 
The  high-born  Lincoln,  son  to  De  la  Pole, 
The  Earl  of  Kildare, — the  Lord  Geraldine, — 
Francis  Lord  Lovell,  and  the  German  baron 
Bold  Martin  Swart,  with  Broughton  and  the  rest, — 
Most  spectacles  of  ruin,  some  of  mercy, — 
Are  precedents  sufficient  to  forewarn 
The  present  times,  or  any  that  live  in  them, 
What  folly,  nay,  what  madness,  'twere  to  lift 
A  finger  up  in  all  defence  but  yours, 
Which  can  be  but  imposturous  in  a  title. 

K.  Hen.  Stanley,  we  know  thou  lov'st  us,  and  thy  heart 
Is  figured  on  thy  tongue ;  nor  think  we  less 


SCENE  i.]  PERKIN  WARBECK.  387 

Of  any's  here. — How  closely  we  have  hunted 

This  cub,  since  he  unlodged,  from  hole  to  hole, 

Your  knowledge  is  our  chronicle :  first  Ireland, 

The  common  stage  of  novelty,  presented 

This  gewgaw  to  oppose  us ;  there  the  Geraldines 

And  Butlers  once  again  stood  in  support 

Of  this  colossic  statue  :  Charles  of  France 

Thence  called  him  into  his  protection, 

Dissembled  him  the  lawful  heir  of  England  ; 

Yet  this  was  all  but  French  dissimulation, 

Aiming  at  peace  with  us  ;  which  being  granted 

On  honourable  terms  on  our  part,  suddenly 

This  smoke  of  straw  was  packed  from  France  again, 

T'  infect  some  grosser  air  :  and  now  we  learn — 

Maugre  the  malice  of  the  bastard  Nevill, 

Sir  Taylor,  and  a  hundred  English  rebels — 

They're  all  retired  to  Flanders,  to  the  dam 

That  nursed  this  eager  whelp,  Margaret  of  Burgundy. 

But  we  will  hunt  him  there  too  ;  we  will  hunt  him, 

Hunt  him  to  death,  even  in  the  beldam's  closet, 

Though  the  archduke  were  his  buckler ! 

Sur.  She  has  styled  him 

"  The  fair  white  rose  of  England." 

Daw.  Jolly  gentleman ! 

More  fit  to  be  a  swabber  to  the  Flemish 
After  a  drunken  surfeit. 

Enter  URSWICK  with  a  paper, 

Urs.  Gracious  sovereign, 

Please  you  peruse  this  paper.  \The  King  reads. 

Dur.  The  king's  countenance 

Gathers  a  sprightly  blood. 

Daw.  Good  news  ;  believe  it. 

K.  Hen.  Urswick,  thine  ear.1     Thou'st  lodged  him? 

Urs.  Strongly  safe,  sir. 

1  Christopher  Urswick  was  at  this  time  almoner  to  the  king.  He. 
possessed  several  high  offices  in  the  Church. 


PERKIN  WARBECK. 


[ACT  I. 


K.  Hen.  Enough  : — is  Barley  come  too  ? 

Urs.  No,  my  lord. 

K.  Hen.  No  matter — phew  !  he's  but  a  running  weed, 
At  pleasure  to  be  plucked-up  by  the  roots : 
But  more  of  this  anon. — I  have  bethought  me, 
My  lords,  for  reasons  which  you  shall  partake, 
It  is  our  pleasure  to  remove  our  court 
From  Westminster  to  the  Tower :  we  will  lodge 
This  very  night  there ;  give,  Lord  Chamberlain, 
A  present  order  for  't. 

Stan.   [Aside}  The  Tower  !— I  shall,  sir. 

K.  Hen.  Come,  my  true,  best,  fast  friends  :  these  clouds 

will  vanish, 
The  sun  will  shine  at  full ;  the  heavens  are  clearing. 

[Flourish.     Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. — Edinburgh.     An  Apartment  in  the  Earl  of 
HUNTLEY'S  House. 

Enter  Earl  of  HUNTLEY  and  Lord  DALYELL. 

Hunt.  You  trifle  time,  sir. 

Dal.  0,  my  noble  lord, 

You  construe  my  griefs  to  so  hard  a  sense, 
That  where  the  text  is  argument  of  pity, 
Matter  of  earnest  love,  your  gloss  corrupts  it 
With  too  much  ill-placed  mirth. 

Hunt.  Much  mirth  !  Lord  Dalyell ;  * 

Not  so,  I  vow.     Observe  me,  sprightly  gallant. 
I  know  thou  art  a  noble  lad,  a  handsome, 
Descended  from  an  honourable  ancestry, 
Forward  and  active,  dost  resolve  to  wrestle 
And  ruffle  in  the  world  by  noble  actions 
For  a  brave  mention  to  posterity : 

1  There  were  two  persons  of  the  name  of  Dalzell,  William  r.nd 
Robert,  grandsons  ot  Sir  John  Dalzell. 


SCENE  II.]          PERKIN  WARBECK.  389 

I  scorn  not  thy  affection  to  my  daughter, 

Not  I,  by  good  Saint  Andrew ;  but  this  bugbear, 

This  whoreson  tale  of  honour, — honour,  Dalyell ! — 

So  hourly  chats  and  tattles  in  mine  ear 

The  piece  of  royalty  that  is  stitched-up 

In  my  Kate's  blood,1  that  'tis  as  dangerous 

For  thee,  young  lord,  to  perch  so  near  an  eaglet 

As  foolish  for  my  gravity  to  admit  it : 

I  have  spoke  all  at  once. 

Dal.  Sir,  with  this  truth 

You  mix  such  wormwood,  that  you  leave  no  hope 
For  my  disordered  palate  e'er  to  relish 
A  wholesome  taste  again  :  alas,  I  know,  sir, 
What  an  unequal  distance  lies  between . 
Great  Huntley's  daughter's  birth  and  Daiyell's  fortunes ; 
She's  the  king's  kinswoman,  placed  near  the  crown, 
A  princess  of  the  blood,  and  I  a  subject. 

Hunt.  Right ;  but  a  noble  subject ;  put  in  that  too. 

Dal.  I  could  add  more ;  and  in  the  rightest  line 
Derive  my  pedigree  from  Adam  Mure, 
A  Scottish  knight ;  whose  daughter  was  the  mother 
To  him  who  first  begot  the  race  of  Jameses, 
That  sway  the  sceptre  to  this  very  day. 
But  kindreds  are  not  ours  when'  once  the  date 
Of  many  years  have  swallowed  up  the  memory 
Of  their  originals  ;  so  pasture-fields 
Neighbouring  too  near  the  ocean  are  swooped-up, 
And  known  no  more ;  for  stood  I  in  my  first 
And  native  greatness,  if  my  princely  mistress 
Vouchsafed  me  not  her  servant,  'twere  as  good 
I  were  reduced  to  clownery,  to  nothing, 
As  to  a  throne  of  wonder. 

Hunt.   [Aside]  Now,  by  Saint  Andrew, 

A  spark  of  mettle  !  he  has  a  brave  fire  in  him  : 
I  would  he  had  my  daughter,  so  I  knew't  not. 
But  't  must  not  be  so,  must  not. — Well,  young  lord, 
'  J  The  Earl  of  HunUey  married  Annabella,  daughter  of  James  1, 


390  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  i. 

This  will  not  do  yet :  if  the  girl  be  headstrong, 
And  will  not  hearken  to  good  counsel,  steal  her, 
And  run  away  with  her  ;  dance  galliards,1  do, 
And  frisk  about  the  world  to  learn  the  languages  : 
'Twill  be  a  thriving  trade  ;  you  may  set  up  by't. 

Dal.  With  pardon,  noble  Gordon,  this  disdain 
Suits  not  your  daughter's  virtue  or  my  constancy. 

Hunt.  You're  angry. — \Aside\  Would  he  would  beat 

me,  I  deserve  it. — 

Dalyell,  thy  hand  ;  we're  friends  :  follow  thy  courtship, 
Take  thine  own  time  and  speak ;  if  thou  prevail'st 
With  passion  more  than  I  can  with  my  counsel, 
She's  thine  ;  nay,  she  is  thine  :  'tis  a  fair  match, 
Free  and  allowed.     I'll  only  use  my  tongue, 
Without  a  father's  power ;  use  thou  thine  : 
Self  do,  self  have :  no  more  words  ;  win  and  wear  her. 

Dal.  You  bless  me  :  I  am  now  too  poor  in  thanks 
To  pay  the  debt  I  owe  you. 

Hunt.  Nay,  thou'rt  poor 

Enough.- — \_Aside\  I  love  his  spirit  infinitely. — 
Look  ye,  she  comes :  to  her  now,  to  her,  to  her  ! 

Enter  Lady  KATHERINE  and  JANE. 
Kath.  The  king  commands  your  presence,  sir. 
Hunt.  The  gallant — • 

This,  this,  this  lord,  this  servant,  Kate,  of  yours, 
Desires  to  be  your  master. 

.  Kath.  I  acknowledge  him 

A  worthy  friend  of  mine. 

Dal.  Your  humblest  creature. 

Hunt.  \_Aside\  So,  so  !  the  game's  a-foot ;  I'm  in  cold 

hunting  ; 
The  hare  and  hounds  are  parties. 

Dal.  Princely  lady, 

How  most  unworthy  I  am  to  employ 
My  services  in  honour  of  your  virtues, 
1  Quick  and  lively  dances. 


SCENE  II.]          PERKIN  WARBECK.  391 

How  hopeless  my  desires  are  to  enjoy 

Your  fair  opinion,  and  much  more  your  love, — 

Are  only  matter  of  despair,  unless 

Your  goodness  give  large  warrant  to  my  boldness, 

My  feeble-winged  ambition. 

Hunt.  [Aside]  This  is  scurvy. 

Kath.  My  lord,  I  interrupt  you  not. 

Hunt.  [Aside]  Indeed  ! 

Now,  on  my  life,  she'll  court  him. — Nay,  nay,  on,  sir. 

Dal.  Oft  have  I  tuned  the  lesson  of  my  sorrows 
To  sweeten  discord  and  enrich  your  pity  ; 
But  all  in  vain  :  here  had  my  comforts  sunk, 
And  never  risen  again-to  tell  a  story 
Of  the  despairing  lover,  had  not  now, 
Even  now,  the  earl  your  father — 

Hunt.  [Aside]  He  means  me,  sure. 

Dal.  After  some  fit  disputes  of  your  condition, 
Your  highness  and  my  lowness,  given  a  license 
Which  did  not  more  embolden  than  encourage 
My  faulting  tongue. 

Hunt.  How,  how  ?  how's  that  ?  embolden  ! 

Encourage  !  I  encourage  ye  !  d'ye  hear,  sir  ? — 
A  subtle  trick,  a  quaint  one : — will  you  hear,  man  ? 
What  did  I  say  to  you  ?  come,  come,  to  the  point. 

Kath.  It  shall  not  need,  my  lord. 

Hunt.  Then  hear  me,  Kate. — 

Keep  you  on  that  hand  of  her,  I  on  this. — 
Thou  stand'st  between  a  father  and  a  suitor, 
Both  striving  for  an  interest  in  thy  heart : 
He  courts  thee  for  affection,  I  for  duty  ; 
He  as  a  servant  pleads,  but  by  the  privilege 
Of  nature  though  I  might  command,  my  care 
Shall  only  counsel  what  it  shall  not  force. 
Thou  canst  but  make  one  choice  ;  the  ties  of  marriage 
Are  tenures  not  at  will,  but  during  life. 
Consider  whose  thou  art,  and  who  ;  a  princess, 
A  princess  of  the  royal  blood  of  Scotland, 


393  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  i. 

In  the  full  spring  of  youth  and  fresh  in  beauty. 
The  king  that  sits  upon  the  throne  is  young, 
And  yet  unmarried,  forward  in  attempts 
On  any  least  occasion  to  endanger 
His  person :  wherefore,  Kate,  as  I  am  confident 
Thou  dar'st  not  wrong  thy  birth  and  education 
By  yielding  to  a  common  servile  rage 
Of  female  wantonness,  so  I  am  confident 
Thou  wilt  proportion  all  thy  thoughts  to  side ' 
Thy  equals,  if  not  equal  thy  superiors. 
My  Lord  of  Dalyell,  young  in  years,  is  old 
In  honours,  but  nor  eminent  in  titles 
Nor  in  estate,  that  may  support  or  add  to 
The  expectation  of  thy  fortunes.     Settle 
Thy  will  and  reason  by  a  strength  of  judgment; 
For,  in  a  word,  I  give  thee  freedom ;  take  it. 
If  equal  fates  have  not  ordained  to  pitch 
Thy  hopes  above  my  height,  let  not  thy  passion 
Lead  thee  to  shrink  mine  honour  in  oblivion : 
Thou  art  thine  own ;  I  have  done. 

Dal.  O,  you're  all  oracle, 

The  living  stock  and  root  of  truth  and  wisdom ! 

Kath.  My  worthiest  lord  and  father,  the  indulgence 
Of  your  sweet  composition  thus  commands 
The  lowest  of  obedience ;  you  have  granted 
A  liberty  so  large,  that  I  want  skill 
To  choose  without  direction  of  example : 
From  which  I  daily  learn,  by  how  much  more 
You  take  off  from  the  roughness  of  a  father, 
By  so  much  more  I  am  engaged  to  tender 
The  duty  of  a  daughter.     For  respects 
Of  birth,  degrees  of  title,  and  advancement, 
I  nor  admire  nor  slight  them  ;  all  my  studies 
Shall  ever  aim  at  this  perfection  only, 
To  live  and  die  so,  that  you  may  not  blush 
In  any  course  of  mine  to  own  me  yours. 
1  i.e.  Keep  pace  with. 


SCEXE  n.l          PERKIN  WARBECK.    .  393 

Hunt.  Kate,   Kate,  thou  grow'st  upon  my  heart  like 
Creating  every  other  hour  a  jubilee.  [peace, 

Kath.  To  you,  my  lord  of  Dalyell,  I  address 
Some  few  remaining  words :  the  general  fame 
That  speaks  your  merit,  even  in  vulgar  tongues 
Proclaims  it  clear  ;  but  in  the  best,  a  precedent. 

Hunt.  Good  wench,  good  girl,  i'  faith  ! 

Kath.  For  my  part,  trust  me, 

I  value  mine  own  worth  at  higher  rate 
'Cause  you  are  pleased  to  prize  it :  if  the  stream 
Of  your  protested  service — as  you  term  it — 
Run  in  a  constancy  more  than  a  compliment, 
It  shall  be  my  delight  that  worthy  love 
Leads  you  to  worthy  actions,  and  these  guide  ye 
Richly  to  wed  an  honourable  name  : 
So  every  virtuous  praise  in  after-ages 
Shall  be  your  heir,  and  I  in  your  brave  mention 
Be  chronicled  the  mother  of  that  issue, 
That  glorious  issue. 

Hunt.  O,  that  I  were  young  again  ! 

Sh'd  make  me  court  proud  danger,  and  suck  spirit 
From  reputation. 

KatJi.  To  the  present  motion 

Here's  all  that  I  dare  answer :  when  a  ripeness 
Of  more  experience,  and  some  use  of  time, 
Resolves  to  treat  the  freedom  of  my  youth 
Upon  exchange  of  troths,  I  shall  desire 
No  surer  credit  of  a  match  with  virtue 
Than  such  as  lives  in  you  :  mean  time  my  hopes  are 
Preserved  secure  in  having  you  a  friend. 

Dal.  You  are  a  blessed  lady,  and  instruct 
Ambition  not  to  soar  a  farther  flight 
Than  in  the  perfumed  air  of  your  soft  voice. — 
My  noble  Lord  of  Huntley,  you  have  lent 
A  full  extent  of  bounty  to  this  parley  ; 
And  for  it  shall  command  your  humblest  servant. 

Hunt.  Enough  :  we  are  still  friends,  and  will  continue 


394  .PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  i. 

A  hearty  love. — O,  Kate,  thou  art  mine  own  ! — 
No  more  : — my  Lord  of  Crawford. 

Enter  Earl  of  CRAWFORD. 

Craw.  From  the  king 

I  come,  my  Lord  of  Huntley,  who  in  council 
Requires  your  present  aid. 

Hunt.  Some  weighty  business  ? 

Craw.  A  secretary  from  a  Duke  of  York, 
The  second  son  to  the  late  English  Edward, 
Concealed,  I  know  not  where,  these  fourteen  years, 
Craves  audience  from  our  master ;  and  'tis  said 
The  duke  himself  is  following  to  the  court. 

Hunt.  Duke   upon   duke ;    'tis  well,    'tis  well ;   here's 

bustling 
For  majesty. — My  lord,  I  will  along  with  ye. 

Craw.  My  service,  noble  lady  ! 

Kath.  Please  ye  walk,  sir  ? 

Dal.  [Aside]  Times  have  their  changes  ;  sorrow  makes 

men  wise  ; 

The  sun  itself  must  set  as  well  as  rise ; 
Then,  why  not  I  ? — Fair  madam,  I  wait  on  ye. 

{Exeunt, 


SCENE  III. — London.     An  Apartment  in  the  Tower. 

Enter  the  Bishop  of  DURHAM,  Sir  ROBERT  CLIFFORD,  and 
URSWICK.    Lights. 

Dur.  You  find,  Sir  Robert  Clifford,  how  securely 
King  Henry,  our  great  master,  doth  commit 
His  person  to  your  loyalty  ;  you  taste 
His  bounty  and  his  mercy  even  in  this, 
That  at  a  time  of  night  so  late,  a  place 
So  private  as  his  closet,  he  is  pleased 
T'  admit  you  to  his  favour.     Do  not  falter 
In  your  discovery ;  but  as  you  covet 


SCENE  in.]         PERKIN  WARBECK.  395 

A  liberal  grace,  and  pardon  for  your  follies, 

So  labour  to  deserve  't  by  laying  open 

All  plots,  all  persons  that  contrive  against  it. 

Urs.  Remember  not  the  witchcraft  or  the  magic, 
The  charms  and  incantations,  which  the  sorceress 
Of  Burgundy  hath  cast  upon  your  reason  : 
Sir  Robert,  be  your  own  friend  now,  discharge 
Your  conscience  freely ;  all  of  such  as  love  you 
Stand  sureties  for  your  honesty  and  truth. 
Take  heed  you  do  not  dally  with  the  king  ; 
He's  wise  as  he  is  gentle. 

Clif.  I  am  miserable, 

If  Henry  be  not  merciful. 

Urs,  The  king  comes. 

£nter  King  HENRY. 

K.  Hen.  Clifford  ! 

Clif.  \Kneels\  Let  my  weak  knees  root  on  the  earth, 
If  I  appear  as  leperous  in  my  treacheries 
Before  your  royal  eyes,  as  tx>  mine  own 
I  seem  a  monster  by  my  breach  of  truth. 

K.  Hen.  Clifford,  stand  up  ;  for  instance  of  thy  safety, 
I  offer  thee  my  hand. 

Clif.  A  sovereign  balm 

For  my  bruised  soul,  I  kiss  it  with  a  greediness. 

\Kisses  the  King's  hand,  and  rises. 
Sir,  you're  a  just  master,  but  I — 

K.  Hen.  Tell  me, 

Is  every  circumstance  thou  hast  set  down 
With  thine  own  hand  within  this  paper  true  ? 
Is  it  a  sure  intelligence  of  all 
The  progress  of  our  enemies'  intents 
Without  corruption  ? 

Clif.  True,  as  I  wish  Heaven, 

Or  my  infected  honour  white  again. 

K.  Hen.  We  know  all,  Clifford,  fully,  since  this  meteor, 
This  airy  apparition  first  discradled 


396  .    PERK1N  WARBECK.  [ACT  I. 

From  Tournay  into  Portugal,  and  thence 

Advanced  his  fiery  blaze  for  adoration 

To  the  superstitious  Irish  ;  since  the  beard 

Of  this  wild  comet,  conjured  into  France, 

Sparkled  in  antic  flames  in  Charles  his  court ; 

But  shrunk  again  from  thence,  and,  hid  in  darkness, 

Stole  into  Flanders  flourishing  the  rag 

Of  painted  power  on  the  shore  of  Kent, 

Whence  he  was  beaten  back  with  shame  and  scorn,1 

Contempt,  and  slaughter  of  some  naked  outlaws  : 

But  tell  me  what  new  course  now  shapes  Duke  Perkin  ? 

Clif.  For  Ireland,  mighty  Henry  ;  so  instructed 
By  Stephen  Frion,2  sometimes  secretary 
In  the  French  tongue  unto  your  sacred  excellence, 
But  Perkin's  tutor  now. 

K,  Hen.  A  subtle  villain, 

That  Frion,  Frion,- — You,  my  Lord  of  Durham, 
Knew  well  the  man. 

Dur.  French  both  in  heart  and  actions. 

K.  Hen.  Some  Irish  heads  work  in  this  mine  of  trea 
son  ; 
Speak  'em. 

Clif.          Not  any  of  the  best ;  your  fortune 
Hath  dulled  their  spleens.     Never  had  counterfeit 
Such  a  confused  rabble  of  lost  bankrupts 
For  counsellors  :  first  Heron,  a  broken  mercer, 
Then  John  a- Water,  sometimes  Mayor  of  Cork, 
Skelton  a  tailor,  and  a  scrivener 
Called  Astley  :  and  whate'er  these  list  to  treat  of, 
Perkin  must  hearken  to  ;  but  Frion,  cunning 
Above  these  dull  capacities,  still  prompts  him 
To  fly  to  Scotland  to  young  James  the  Fourth. 

1  Perkin  did  not  land  but  sent  some  of  his  followers  on  shore  at 
Sandwich;  they  were  defeated  by  the  Kentish  men.    The  prisoners, 
mostly  foreigners,  were  executed,  "  some  of  them  at  London  and 
Wapping,  and  the  rest  at  divers  places  upon  the  seacoast  of  Kent, 
Sussex,  and  Norfolk,  for  sea-marks  cr  lighthouses  to  teach  Perkin's 
people  to  avoid  the  coast." — Bacon. 

2  An  active  agent  in  the  hands  of  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy. 


SCEXK  in.]        PERKIN  WARBECK.  397 

And  sue  for  aid  to  him  :  this  is  the  latest 
Of  all  their  resolutions. 

K.  Hen.  Still  more  Frion  ! 

Pestilent  adder,  he  will  hiss-out  poison 
As  dangerous  as  infectious  :  we  must  match  him. 
Clifford,  thou  hast  spoke  home  ;  we  give  thee  life  : 
But,  Clifford,  there  are  people  of  our  own 
Remain  behind  untold  ;  who  are  they,  Clifford  ? 
Name  those,  and  we  are  friends,  and  will  to  rest ; 
Tis  thy  last  task. 

Clif.  O,  sir,  here  I  must  break 

A  most  unlawful  oath  to  keep  a  just  one. 

K.  Hen.  Well,  well,  be  brief,  be  brief. 

Clif.  The  first  in  rank 

Shall  be  John  Ratcliffe,  Lord  -Fitzwater,  then 
Sir  Simon  Mountford  and  Sir  Thomas  Thwaites, 
With  William  Dawbeney,  Chessoner,  Astwood, 
Worseley  the  Dean  of  Paul's,  two  other  friars, 
And  Robert  Ratcliffe.1 

K.  Hen.  Churchmen  are  turned  devils. 

These  are  the  principal  ? 

Clif.  One  more  remains 

Unnamed,  whom  I  could  willingly  forget. 

K.  Hen.  Ha,  Clifford  !  one  more  ? 

Clif.  Great  sir,  do  not  hear  him  ; 

For  when  Sir  William  Stanley,  your  lord  chamberlain, 
Shall  come  into  the  list,  as  he  is  chief, 
I  shall  lose  credit  with  ye ;  yet  this  lord 
Last  named  is  first  against  you. 

K.  Hen.  Urswick,  the  light  !— 

View  well  my  face,  sirs  ;  is  there  blood  left  in  it  ? 

Dur.  You  alter  strangely,  sir. 

K.  J leu.  Alter,  lord  bishop  ! 

Why,  Clifford  stabled   me,   or    I  dreamed   he   stabbed 
me. — 

1  All  these  except  We  rseley  and  the  two  Dominicans,  perished 
on  the  scaffold. 


398  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  I. 

Sirrah,  it  is  a  custom  with  the  guilty 

To  think  they  set  their  own  stains  oft  by  laying 

Aspersions  on  some  nobler  than  themselves  ; 

Lies  wait  on  treasons,  as  I  find  it  here. 

Thy  life  again  is  forfeit ;  I  recall 

My  word  of  mercy,  for  I  know  thou  dar'st 

Repeat  the  name  no  more. 

Clif.  I  dare,  and  once  more, 

Upon  my  knowledge,  name  Sir  William  Stanley 
Both  in  his  counsel  and  his  purse  the  chief 
Assistant  to  the  feigned  Duke  of  York. 

Dnr.  Most  strange  ! 

Urs.  Most  wicked  ! 

K.  Hen.  Yet  again,  once  more. 

Clif.  Sir  William  Stanley  is  your  secret  enemy, 
And,  if  time  fit,  will  openly  profess  it. 

K.  Hen.  Sir  William  Stanley  !     Who  ?     Sir  William 

Stanley ! 

My  chamberlain,  my  counsellor,  the  love, 
The  pleasure  of  my  court,  my  bosom-friend, 
The  charge  and  the  controlment  of  my  person, 
The  keys  and  secrets  of  my  treasury, 
The  all  of  all  I  am  !     I  am  unhappy. 
Misery  of  confidence, — let  me  turn  traitor 
To  mine  own  person,  yield  my  sceptre  up 
To  Edward's  sister  and  her  bastard  duke  ! 

Dur.  You  lose  your  constant  temper. 

K.  Hen.  Sir  William  Stanley  ! 

O,  do  not  blame  me  ;  he,  'twas  only  he, 
Who,  having  rescued  me  in  Bosworth-field 
From  Richard's  bloody  sword,  snatched  from  his  head 
The  kingly  crown,  and  placed  it  first  on  mine. 
He  never  failed  me  :  what  have  I  deserved 
To  lose  this  good  man's  heart,  or  he  his  own  ? 

Urs.  The  night  doth  waste  ;  this  passion  ill  becomes 

.    ye'  . 
Provide  against  your  danger. 


SCENE  in.]         PERKIN  WARBECK. 


399 


K.  Hen.  Let  it  be  so. 

Urswick,  command  straight  Stanley  to  his  chamber  ; — 
Tis  well  we  are  i'  the  Tower  ; — set  a  guard  on  him. — 
Clifford,  to  bed  ;  you  must  lodge  here  to-night ; 
We'll  talk  with  you  to-morrow.  —  My  sad  soul 
Divines  strange  troubles. 

Daiv.   [  Within\  Ho  !  the  king,  the  king  ! 

I  must  have  entrance. 

K.  Hen.  Dawbeney's  voice  ;  admit  him. 

What  new  combustions  huddle  next,  to  keep 
Our  eyes  from  rest  ? 

Enter  Lord  DAWBENEY. 

The  news  ? 

Daw.  Ten  thousand  Cornish, 

Grudging  to  pay  your  subsidies,  have  gathered 
A  head  ;  led  by  a  blacksmith  and  a  lawyer, 
They  make  for  London,  and  to  them  is  joined 
Lord  Audley  :  as  they  march,  their  number  daily 
Increases  ;  they  are — 

K.  Hen.  Rascals  ! — talk  no  more  ; 

Such  are  not  worthy  of  my  thoughts  to-night. 
To  bed  ;  and  if  I  cannot  sleep,  I'll  wake. — 
When  counsels  fail,  and  there's  in  man  no  trust, 
Even  then  an  arm  from  Heaven  fights  for  the  just. 

\_Excunt. 


ACT   THE   SECOND. 

SCENE  I. — Edinburgh.     The  Presence-chamber  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  above  the  Countess  of  CRAWFORD,  Lady  KATHE- 
RINE,  JANE  DOUGLAS,  and  other  Ladies. 

»OUNTESS  OF  C.  Come,  ladies,  here's 

a  solemn  preparation 
For    entertainment    of    this    English 

prince ; 
The  king   intends   grace   more   than 

ordinary : 
'Twere  pity  now  if  he  should  prove  a  counterfeit. 

Kath.  Bless   the  young   man,    our   nation   would   be 

laughed  at 

For  honest  souls  through  Christendom !     My  father 
Hath  a  weak  stomach  to  the  business,  madam, 
But  that  the  king  must  not  be  crossed. 

Countess  of  C.  He  brings 

A  goodly  troop,  they  say,  of  gallants  with  him ; 
But  very  modest  people,  for  they  strive  not 
To  fame  their  names  too  much ;  their  godfathers 
May  be  beholding  to  them,  but  their  fathers 
Scarce  owe  them  thanks :  they  are  disguised  princes, 
Brought  up,  it  seems,  to  honest  trades ;  no  matter, 
They  will  break  forth  in  season. 

Jane.  Or  break  out ; 

For  most  of  'em  are  broken  by  report. —         {A  flourish. 
The  king ! 

Kath.        Let  us  observe  'em  and  be  silent. 


SCENE  i.]  PERKIN  WARBECK.  401 

Enter  King  JAMES,  Earls  of  HUNTLEV  and  CRAWFORD, 
Lord  DALYELL,  and  other  Noblemen. 

K.  fa.  The  right  of  kings,  my  lords,  extends  not  only 
To  the  safe  conservation  of  their  own, 
But  also  to  the  aid  of  such  allies 
As  change  of  time  and  state  hath  oftentimes 
Hurled  down  from  careful  crowns  to  undergo 
An  exercise  of  sufferance  in  both  fortunes : 
So  English  Richard,  surnamed  Coeur-de-Lion, 
So  Robert  Bruce,  our  royal  ancestor, 
Forced  by  the  trial  of  the  wrongs  they  felt, 
Both  sought  and  found  supplies  from  foreign  kings, 
To  repossess  their  own.     Then  grudge  not,  lords, 
A  much  distressed  prince :  King  Charles  of  France 
And  Maximilian  of  Bohemia  both 
Have  ratified  his  credit  by  their  letters ; 
Shall  we,  then,  be  distrustful  ?     No ;  compassion 
Is  one  rich  jewel  that  shines  in  our  crown, 
And  we  will  have  it  shine  there. 

Hunt.  Do  your  will,  sir. 

K.  Ja.  The  young  duke  is  at  hand :  Dalyell,  from  us 
First  greet  him,  and  conduct  him  on ;  then  Crawford 
Shall  meet  him  next ;  and  Huntley,  last  of  all, 
Present   him   to   our   arms.     \_Exit  Lord    DALYELL.] — 

Sound  sprightly  music, 
Whilst  majesty  encounters  majesty.  [Hautboys. 

Rt-enter  Lord  DALYELL  with  PERKIN  WARBECK,  followed 
at  a  distance  by  FRION,  HERON,  SKELTON,  ASTLEY, 
and  JOHN  A- WATER.  The  Earl  of  CRAWFORD  ad 
vances,  and  salutes  PERKIN  at  the  door,  and  afterwards 
the  Earl  of  H  UNTLEY,  who  presents  him  to  the  King :  they 
embrace ;  the  Noblemen  slightly  salute  his  Followers. 

War.  Most  high,  most  mighty  king!1  that  now  there 
stands 

1  In  Bacon  this  speech  begins    thus:  "High  and  mighty  king  ! 
your  grace,  and  these  your  nobles  here  present,  may  be  pleased 
Ford.  D  0 


402  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  n. 

Before  your  eyes,  in  presence  of  your  peers, 

A  subject  of  the  rarest  kind  of  pity 

That  hath  in  any  age  touched  noble  hearts, 

The  vulgar  story  of  a  prince's  ruin 

Hath  made  it  too  apparent :  Europe  knows, 

And  all  the  western  world,  what  persecution 

Hath  raged  in  malice  against  us,  sole  heir 

To  the  great  throne  of  old  Plantagenets. 

How  from  our  nursery  we  have  been  hurried 

Unto  the  sanctuary,  from  the  sanctuary 

Forced  to  the  prison,  from  the  prison  haled 

By  cruel  hands  to  the  tormentor's  fury, 

Is  registered  already  in  the  volume 

Of  all  men's  tongues  ;  whose  true  relation  draws 

Compassion,  melted  into  weeping  eyes 

And  bleeding  souls  :  but  our  misfortunes  since 

Have  ranged  a  larger  progress  through  strange  lands, 

Protected  in  our  innocence  by  Heaven. 

Edward  the  Fifth,  our  brother,  in  his  tragedy 

Quenched  their  hot  thirst  of  blood,  whose  hire  to  murder 

Paid  them  their  wages  of  despair  and  horror ; 

The  softness  of  my  childhood  smiled  upon 

The  roughness  of  their  task,  and  robbed  them  farther 

Of  hearts  to  dare,  or  hands  to  execute. 

Great  king,  they  spared  my  life,  the  butchers  spared  it ; 

Returned  the  tyrant,  my  unnatural  uncle, 

A  truth  of  my  dispatch  :  I  was  conveyed 

With  secrecy  and  speed  to  Tournay  ;  fostered 

By  obscure  means,  taught  to  unlearn  myself: 

But  as  I  grew  in  years,  I  grew  in  sense 

Of  fear  and  of  disdain ;  fear  of  the  tyrant 

Whose  power  swayed  the  throne  then  :  when  disdain 

Of  living  so  unknown,  in  such  a  servile 

benignly  to  bow  your  ears  to  hear  the  tragedy  of  a  young  man  .... 
tossed  from  misery  to  misery  ....  You  see  here  before  you  the 
spectacle  of  a  Plantagenet,  who  hath  been  carried  from  the  nursery 
to  the  sanctuary,  from  the  sanctuary  to  the  direful  prison,  from  the 
prison  to  the  hand  of  the  cruel  tormentor,"  &c. 


SCENE  i.]  PERKIN  WARBECK.  403 

And  abject  lowness,  prompted  me  to  thoughts 

Of  recollecting  who  I  was,  I  shook  off 

My  bondage,  and  made  haste  to  let  my  aunt 

Of  Burgundy  acknowledge  me  her  kinsman, 

Heir  to  the  crown  of  England,  snatched  by  Henry 

From  Richard's  head  ;  a  thing  scarce  known  i'  the  world. 

K.  Ja.  My  lord,  it  stands  not  with  your  counsel  now 
To  fly  upon  invectives  :  if  you  can 
Make  this  apparent  what  you  have  discoursed 
In  every  circumstance,  we  will  not  study 
An  answer,  but  are  ready  in  your  cause. 

War.  You  are  a  wise  and  just  king,  by  the  powers 
Above  reserved,  beyond  all  other  aids, 
To  plant  me  in  mine  own  inheritance, 
To  marry  these  two  kingdoms  in  a  love 
Never  to  be  divorced  while  time  is  time. 
As  for  the  manner,  first  of  my  escape, 
Of  my  conveyance  next,  of  my  life  since, 
The  means  and  persons  who  were  instruments, 
Great  sir,  'tis  fit  I  over-pass  in  silence ; 
Reserving  the  relation  to  the  secrecy 
Of  your  own  princely  ear,  since  it  concerns 
Some  great  ones  living  yet,  and  others  dead, 
Whose  issue  might  be  questioned.     For  your  bounty, 
Royal  magnificence  to  him  that  seeks  it, 
We  vow  hereafter  to  demean  ourself 
A  s  if  we  were  your  own  and  natural  brother, 
Omitting  no  occasion  in  our  person 
T'  express  a  gratitude  beyond  example. 

K.  Ja.  He  must  be  more  than  subject  who  can  utter 
The  language  of  a  king,  and  such  is  thine. 
Take  this  for  answer :  be  what'er  thou  art, 
Thou  never  shalt  repent  that  thou  hast  put 
Thy  cause  and  person  into  my  protection. 
Cousin  of  York,  thus  once  more  we  embrace  thee ; 
Welcome  to  James  of  Scotland  !  for  thy  safety, 
Know,  such  as  love  thee  not  shall  never  wrong  thce. 


404  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  n. 

Come,  we  will  taste  a  while  our  court-delights, 

Dream  hence  affliction  past,  and  then  proceed 

To  high  attempts  of  honour.     On,  lead  on  !— 

Both  thou  and  thine  are  ours,  and  we  will  guard  ye. — 

Lead  on  !  {Exeunt  all  but  the  Ladies  above. 

.  Countess  of  C.  I  have  not  seen  a  gentleman 
Of  a  more  brave  aspect  or  goodlier  carriage ; 
His  fortunes  move  not  him. — Madam,  you're  passionate.1 
Kath.  Beshrew  me,  but  his  words  have  touched   me 

home, 

As  if  his  cause  concerned  me :  I  should  pity  him, 
If  he  should  prove  another  than  he  seems. 

Re-enter  Earl  of  CRAWFORD. 

Craw.  Ladies,  the  king  commands  your  presence  in- 
For  entertainment  .of  the  duke.  [stantly 

Kath.  The  duke 

Must,  then,  be  entertained,  the  king  obeyed ; 
It  is  our  duty. 

Countess  of  C.  We  will  all  wait  on  him.  \Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.—  London.     The  Tower. 

A  flourish.   Enter  King  HENRY,  the  Earls  of  Oxford,  and 
Surrey,  and  th:  Bishop  of  Durham. 

K.  Hen.  Have  ye  condemned  my  chamberlain  ? 

Dur.  His  treasons 

Condemned  him,  sir;  which  were  as  clear  and  manifest 
As  foul  and  dangerous  :  besides,  the  guilt 
Of  his  conspiracy  pressed  him  so  nearly, 
That  it  drew  from  him  free  confession 
Without  an  importunity. 

K.  Hen.  O,  lord  bishop, 

This  argued  shame  and  sorrow  for  his  folly, 

1  Distressed. 


SCENE  n.J  PERKIN  WARBECK.  405 

And  must  not  stand  in  evidence  against 

Our  mercy  and  the  softness  of  our  nature : 

The  rigour  and  extremity  of  law 

Is  sometimes  too-too  bitter ;  but  we  carry 

A  chancery  of  pity  in  our  bosom. 

I  hope  we  may  reprieve  him  from  the  sentence 

Of  death ;  I  hope  we  may. 

Dur.  You  may,  you  may ; 

And  so  persuade  your  subjects  that  the  title 
Of  York  is  better,  nay,  more  just  and  lawful, 
Than  yours  of  Lancaster !  so  Stanley  holds : 
Which  if  it  be  not  treason  in  the  highest, 
Then  we  are  traitors  all,  perjured  and  false, 
Who  have  took  oath  to  Henry  and  the  justice 
Of  Henry's  title ;  Oxford,  Surrey,  Dawbeney, 
With  all  your  other  peers  of  state  and  church, 
Forsworn,  and  Stanley  true  alone  to  Heaven 
And  England's  lawful  heir! 

Oxf.  By  Vere's  old  honours, 

I'll  cut  his  throat  dares  speak  it. 

Sur.  'Tis  a  quarrel 

T'  engage  a  soul  in. 

K.  Hen.  What  a  coil  is  here 

To  keep  my  gratitude  sincere  and  perfect ! 
Stanley  was  once  my  friend,  and  came  in  time 
To  save  my  life ;  yet,  to  say  truth,  my  lords, 
The  man  stayed  long  enough  t'  endanger  it: — l 
But  I  could  see  no  more  into  his  heart 
Than  what  his  outward  actions  did  present ; 
And  for  'em  have  rewarded  him  so  fully, 
As  that  there  wanted  nothing  in  our  gift 
To  gratify  his  merit,  as  I  thought, 
Unless  I  should  divide  my  crown  with  him, 

1  "  As  a  little  leaven  of  new  dislaste  doth  commonly  sour  the 
whole  lump  of  former  merits,  the  king's  wit  began  now  to  suggest 
unto  his  passion  that  Stanley  at  Bosworth-field,  though  he  came 
time  enough  to  save  his  life,  yet  he  stayed  long  enough  to  endanger 
it." — Bacon. 


406  PERKIN  VFARBECK.  [ACT  n.   I 

And  give  him  half ;  though  now  I  well  perceive 
'Twould  scarce  have  served  his  turn  without  the  whole. 
But  I  am  charitable,  lords  ;  let  justice 
Proceed  in  execution,  whiles  I  mourn 
The  loss  of  one  whom  I  esteemed  a  friend. 

Dur.  Sir,  he  is  coming  this  way. 

K.  Hen.  If  he  speak  to  me, 

I  could  deny  him  nothing ;  to  prevent  it, 
I  must  withdraw.     Pray,  lords,  commend  my  favours 
To  his  last  peace,  which  I  with  him  will  pray  for : 
That  done,  it  doth  concern  us  to  consult 
Of  other  following  troubles.  \Exit. 

Oxf.  I  am  glad 

He's  gone  :  upon  my  life,  he  would  have  pardoned 
The  traitor,  had  he  seen  him. 

Sur.  'Tis  a  king 

Composed  of  gentleness. 

Dur.    '  Rare  and  unheard  of: 

But  every  man  is  nearest  to  himself; 
And  that  the  king  observes ;  'tis  fit  he  should. 

Enter  Sir  WILLIAM  STANLEY,  Executioner,  Confessor, 
URSWICK,  and  Lord  DAWBENEY. 

Stan.  May  I  not  speak  with  Clifford  ere  I  shake 
This  piece  of  frailty  off  ? 

Daw.  You  shall ;  he's  sent  for. 

Stan.  I  must  not  see  the  king  ? 

Dur.  From  him,  Sir  William, 

These  lords  and  I  am  sent ;  he  bade  us  say 
That  he  commends  his  mercy  to  your  thoughts ; 
Wishing  the  laws  of  England  could  remit 
The  forfeit  of  your  life  as  willingly 
As  he  would  in  the  sweetness  of  his  nature 
Forget  your  trespass :  but  hovve'er  your  body 
Fall  into  dust,  he  vows,  the  king  himself 
Doth  vow,  to  keep  a  requiem  for  your  soul, 
As  for  a  friend  close  treasured  in  his  bosom. 


SCENE  ii.]  PERKIN  WARBECK.  407 

Oxf.  Without  remembrance  of  your  errors  past, 
I  come  to  take  my  leave,  and  wish  you  Heaven. 

Sur.  And  I ;  good  angels  guard  ye  ! 

Stan.  0,  the  king, 

Next  to  my  soul,  shall  be  the  nearest  subject 
Of  my  last  prayers.     My  grave  Lord  of  Durham, 
My  Lords  of  Oxford,  Surrey,  Dawbeney,  all, 
Accept  from  a  poor  dying  man  a  farewell. 
I  was  as  you  are  once, — great,  and  stood  hopeful 
Of  many  flourishing  years  ;  but  fate  and  time 
Have  wheeled  about,  to  turn  me  into  nothing. 

Daw.  Sir  Robert  Clifford  comes, — the  man,  Sir  William, 
You  so  desire  to  speak  with. 

Dur.  Mark  their  meeting. 

Enter  Sir  ROBERT  CLIFFORD. 

Clif.  Sir  William  Stanley,  I  am  glad  your  conscience 
Before  your  end  hath  emptied  every  burthen 
Which  charged  it,  as  that  you  can  clearly  witness 
How  far' I  have  proceeded  in  a  duty 
That  both  concerned  my  truth  and  the  state's  safety. 

Stan.  Mercy,  how  dear  is  life  to  such  as  hug  it ! 
Come  hither  •  by  this  token  think  on  me  ! 

[Makes  a  cross  on  CLIFFORD'S  face  with  his  finger. 

Clif.  This  token  !     What !  I  am  abused  ? 

Stan.  You  are  not. 

I  wet  upon  your  cheeks  a  holy  sign, — 
The  cross,  the  Christian's  badge,  the  traitor's  infamy : 
Wear,  Clifford,  to  thy  grave  this  painted  emblem ; 
Water  shall  never  wash  it  off ;  all  eyes 
That  gaze  upon  thy  face  shall  read  there  written 
A  state-informer's  character  ;  more  ugly 
Stamped  on  a  noble  name  than  on  a  base. 
The  heavens  forgive  thee  ! — Pray,  my  lords,  no  change 
Of  words  ;  this  man  and  1  have  used  too  many. 

Clif.  Shall  I  be  disgraced 
Without  reply  ? 


408  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  if. 

Dur.  Give  losers  leave  to  talk  ; 

His  loss  is  irrecoverable. 

Stan.  Once  more, 

To  all  a  long  farewell !     The  best  of  greatness 
Preserve  the  king  !     My  next  suit  is,  my  lords, 
To  be  remembered  to  my  noble  brother, 
Derby,  my  much-grieved  brother  :  O,  persuade  him 
That  I  shall  stand  no  blemish  to  his  house 
In  chronicles  writ  in  another  age. 
My  heart  doth  bleed  for  him  and  for  his  sighs : 
Tell  him,  he  must  not  think  the  style  of  Derby, 
Nor  being  husband  to  King  Henry's  mother, 
The  league  with  peers,  the  smiles  of  fortune,  can 
Secure  his  peace  above  the  state  of  man. 
I  take  my  leave,  to  travel  to  my  dust : 
Subjects  deserve  their  deaths  whose  kings  are  just. — 
Come,  confessor. — On  with  thy  axe,  friend,  on  ! 

\He  is  led  off  to  execution. 

Clif.  Was  I  called  hither  by  a  traitor's  breath 
To  be  upbraided  ?     Lords,  the  king  shall  know  it. 

Re-enter  King  HENRY  with  a  white  staff. 

K.  Hen.  The  king  doth  know  it,  sir ;  the  king  hath 

heard 

What  he  or  you  could  say.     We  have  given  credit 
To  every  point  of  Clifford's  information, 
The  only  evidence  'gainst  Stanley's  head : 
He  dies  for't ;  are  you  pleased  ? 

Clif.  I  pleased,  my  lord  ! 

K.  Hen.  No  echoes  :  for  your  service,  we  dismiss 
Your  more  attendance  on  the  court ,  take  ease, 
And  live  at  home  ;  but,  as  you  love  your  life, 
Stir  not  from  London  without  leave  from  us. 
We'll  think  on  your  reward  :  away  ! 

Clif.  I  go,  sir.        \Exit. 

K.  Hen.  Die  all  our  griefs  with  Stanley !  Take  this  staff 
Of  office,  Dawbeney ;  henceforth  be  our  chamberlain. 


SCENE  ii.]  PERKIN  WARBECK.  409 

Daw.  I  am  your  humble  servant. 

K.  Hen.  We  are  followed 

By  enemies  at  home,  that  will  not  cease 
To  seek  their  own  confusion  :  'tis  most  true 
The  Cornish  under  Audley  are  marched  on 
As  far  as  Winchester ; — but  let  them  come, 
Our  forces  are  in  readiness ;  we'll  catch  'em 
In  their  own  toils. 

Daw.  Your  army,  being  mustered, 

Consists  in  all,  of  horse  and  foot,  at  least 
In  number  six-and-twenty  thousand  ;  men 
Daring  and  able,  resolute  to  fight, 
And  loyal  in  their  truths. 

K.  Hen.  We  know  it,  Dawbeney  : 

For  them  we  order  thus ;  Oxford  in  chief, 
Assisted  by  bold  Essex  and  the  Earl 
Of  Suffolk,  shall  lead  on  the  first  battalia ; 
Be  that  your  charge. 

Oxf.  I  humbly  thank  your  majesty. 

K.  Hen.  The  next  division  we  assign  to  Dawbeney  : 
These  must  be  men  of  action,  for  on  those 
The  fortune  of  our  fortunes  must  relv. 
The  last  and  main  ourself  commands  in  person  ; 
As  ready  to  restore  the  fight  at  all  times 
As  to  consummate  an  assured  victory. 

Daw.  The  king  is  still  oraculous. 

K.  Hen.  But,  Surrey, 

We  have  employment  of  more  toil  for  thee  : 
For  our  intelligence  comes  swiftly  to  us, 
That  James  of  Scotland  late  hath  entertained 
Perkin  the  counterfeit  with  more  than  common 
Grace  and  respect,  nay,  courts  him  with  rare  favours. 
The  Scot  is  young  and  forward ;  we  must  look  for 
A  sudden  storm  to  England  from  the  north  ; 
Which  to  withstand,  Durham  shall  post  to  Norham, 
To  fortify  the  castle  and  secure 
The  frontiers  against  an  invasion  there. 


4io  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  ti. 

Surrey  shall  follow  soon,  with  such  an  army 
As  may  relieve  the  bishop,  and  encounter 
On  all  occasions  the  death-daring  Scots. 
You  know  your  charges  all ;  'tis  now  a  time 
To  execute,  not  talk :  Heaven  is  our  guard  still. 
War  must  breed  peace :  such  is  the  fate  of  kings. 

\Exeunti 


SCENE  III. — Edinburgh.     An  Apartment  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  Earl  of  CRAWFORD  and  Lord  DALYELL. 

Craw.    'Tis  more  than  strange ;    my  reason  cannot 

answer 

Such  argument  of  fine  imposture,  couched 
In  witchcraft  of  persuasion,  that  it  fashions 
Impossibilities,  as  if  appearance 
Could  cozen  truth  itself:  this  dukeling  mushroom 
Hath  doubtless  charmed  the  king. 

Dal.  He  courts  the  ladies, 

As  if  his  strength  of  language  chained  attention 
By  power  of  prerogative. 

Craw.  It  madded 

My  very  soul  to  hear  our  master's  motion  : 
What  surety  both  of  amity  and  honour 
Must  of  necessity  ensue  upon 
A  match  betwixt  some  noble  of  our  nation 
And  this  brave  prince,  forsooth  ! 

Dal.  'Twill  prove  too  fatal ; 

Wise  Huntley  fears  the  threatening.     Bless  the  lady 
From  such  a  ruin  I 

Craw.  How  the  counsel  privy 

Of  this  young  Phaethon  do  screw  their  faces 
Into  a  gravity  their  trades,  good  people, 
Were  never  guilty  of !  the  meanest  of  'em 
Dreams  of  at  least  an  office  in  the  state. 


SCENE  in.]         PERKIN  WARBECK.  411 

DaL  Sure,  not  the  hangman's ;  'tis  bespoke  already 
For  service  to  their  rogueships — Silence  ! 

Enter  King  JAMES  and  Earl  of  HUNTLEV. 

K.  Ja.  Do  not 

Argue  against  our  will ;  we  have  descended 
Somewhat — as  we  may  term  it — too  familiarly 
From  justice  of  our  birthright,  to  examine 
The  force  of  your  allegiance, — sir,  we  have, — 
But  find  it  short  of  duty. 

Hunt.  Break  my  heart, 

Do,  do,  king  !     Have  my  services,  my  loyalty, — 
Heaven  knows  untainted  ever, — drawn  upon  me 
Contempt  now  in  mine  age,  when  I  but  wanted 
A  minute  of  a  peace  not  to  be  troubled, 
My  last,  my  long  one  ?     Let  me  be  a  dotard, 
A  bedlam,  a  poor  sot,  or  what  you  please 
To  have  me,  so  you  will  not  stain  your  blood, 
Your  own  blood,  royal  sir,  though  mixed  with  mine, 
By  marriage  of  this  girl 1  to  a  straggler : 
Take,  take  my  head,  sir  ;  whilst  my  tongue  can  wag, 
It  cannot  name  him  other. 

K.  Ja.  Kings  are  counterfeits 

In  your  repute,  grave  oracle,  not  presently 
Set  on  their  thrones  with  sceptres  in  their  fists. 
But  use  your  own  detraction  ;  'tis  our  pleasure 
To  give  our  cousin  York  for  wife  our  kinswoman, 
The  Lady  Katherine  :  instinct  of  sovereignty 
Designs  the  honour,  though  her  peevish  father 
Usurps  our  resolution. 

Hunt.  O,  'tis  well, 

Exceeding  well !  I  never  was  ambitious 
Of  using  congees  to  my  daughter-queen — 

1  "  To  put  it  out  of  doubt  that  he  took  him  (Pcrkin)  to  be  a 
great  prince,  and  not  a  representation  only,  he  (King  James)  gave 
consent  that  this  duke  should  t;ike  to  wife  the  Lady  Kaiheiine 
Gordon,  daughter  to  the  Earl  of  Huntley,  being  a  near  kinswoman 
to  the  king  himself,  and  a  young  virgin  of  excellent  beauty  and 
virtue." — Bacon. 


4 1 2  PERK1N  WA  RBECK.  [ACT  1 1 . 

A  queen  !  perhaps  a  quean  ! — Forgive  me,  Dalyell, 
Thou  honourable  gentleman ; — none  here 
Dare  speak  one  work  of  comfort  ? 

Dal.  Cruel  misery ! 

Craw.  The  lady,  gracious  prince,  may-be  hath  settled 
Affection  on  some  former  choice. 

Dal.  Enforcement 

Would  prove  but  tyranny. 

Hunt.  I  thank  ye  heartily. 

Let  any  yeoman  of  our  nation  challenge 
An  interest  in  the  girl,  then  the  king 
May  add  a  jointure  of  ascent  in  titles, 
Worthy  a  free  consent ;   now  he  pulls  down 
What  old  desert  hath  builded. 

K.  Ja.  Cease  persuasions. 

I  violate  no  pawns  of  faith,  intrude  not 
On  private  loves :  that  I  have  played  the  orator 
For  kingly  York  to  virtuous  Kate,  her  grant 
Can  justify,  referring  her  contents 
To  our  provision.     The  Welsh  Harry  henceforth 
Shall  therefore  know,  and  tremble  to  acknowledge, 
That  not  the  painted  idol  of  his  policy 
Shall  fright  the  lawful  owner  from  a  kingdom. 
We  are  resolved. 

Himt.  Some  of  thy  subjects'  hearts, 

King  James,  will  bleed  for  this. 

K.  Ja.  Then  shall  their  bloods 

Be  nobly  spent.     No  more  disputes ;  he  is  not 
Our  friend  who  contradicts  us. 

Hunt.  Farewell,  daughter ! 

My  care  by  one  is  lessened,  thank  the  king  for't : 
I  and  my  griefs  will  dance  now. 

Enter  PERKIN  WARBECK,  leading,  and  complimenting  with, 
Lady  KATHERIXE  ;  Countess  of  CRAWFORD,  JANE 
DOUGLAS,  FRION,  JOHN  A- WATER,  ASTLEY,  HERON, 
and  SKELTON. 


SCENE  in.]         PERKIN  WARBECK.  413 

Look,  lords,  look ; 
Here's  hand  in  hand  already ! 

K.  Ja,  Peace,  old  frenzy! — 

How  like  a  king  he  looks !    Lords,  but  observe 
The  confidence  of  his  aspect ;  dross  cannot 
Cleave  to  so  pure  a  metal — royal  youth ! 
Plantagenet  undoubted ! 

Hunt,  \^Aside\  Ho,  brave ! — Youth, 

But  no  Plantagenet,  by'r  lady,  yet, 
By  red  rose  or  by  white. 

War.  An  union  this  way 

Settles  possession  in  a  monarchy 
Established  rightly,  as  is  my  inheritance : 
Acknowledge  me  but  sovereign  of  this  kingdom, 
Your  heart,  fair  princess,  and  the  hand  of  providence 
Shall  crown  you  queen  of  me  and  my  best  fortunes. 

Kath.  Where  my  obedience  is,  my  lord,  a  duty 
Love  owes  true  service. 

War.  Shall  I  ?— 

K.  Ja.  Cousin,  yes, 

Enjoy  her ;  from  my  hand  accept  your  bride ; 

\Hejoins  their  hands. 
And  may  they  live  at  enmity  with  comfort 
Who  grieve  at  such  an  equal  pledge  of  troths  ! — 
You  are  the  prince's  wife  now. 

Kath.  By  your  gift,  sir. 

War.  Thus  I  take  seizure  of  mine  own. 

Kath.  I  miss  yet 

A  father's  blessing.     Let  me  find  it ; — humbly 
Upon  my  knees  I  seek  it. 

Hunt.  I  am  Huntley, 

Old  Alexander  Gordon,  a  plain  subject, 
Nor  more  nor  less  ;  and,  lady,  if  you  wish  for 
A  blessing,  you  must  bend  your  knees  to  Heaven  ; 
For  Heaven  did  give  me  you.     Alas,  alas, 
What  would  you  have  me  say?     May  all  the  happiness 
My  prayers  ever  sued  to  fall  upon  you 


414  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  n. 

Preserve  you  in  your  virtues  ! — Prithee,  Dalyell, 
Come  with  me ;  for  I  feel  thy  griefs  as  full 
As  mine ;  let's  steal  away,  and  cry  together. 

Dal.  My  hopes  are  in  their  ruins. 

{Exeunt  Earl  of  HUNTLEY  and  Lord  DALYELL. 

K.  Ja.  Good,  kind  Huntley 

Is  overjoyed :  a  fit  solemnity 
Shall  perfect  these  delights. — Crawford,  attend 
Our  order  for  the  preparation. 

{Exeunt  all  but  FRION,  HERON,   SKELTON, 
JOHN  A- WATER,  #«</ASTLEY. 

Fri.  Now,  worthy  gentlemen,  have  I  not  followed 
My  undertakings  with  success?     Here's  entrance 
Into  a  certainty  above  a  hope. 

Her.  Hopes  are  but  hopes ;  I  was  ever  confident, 
when  I  traded  but  in  remnants,  that  my  stars  had  reserved 
me  to  the  title  of  a  viscount  at  least :  honour  is  honour, 
though  cut  out  of  any  stuffs.1 

Skel.  My  brother  Heron  hath  right  wisely  delivered 
his  opinion;  for  he  that  threads  his  needle  with  the 
sharp  eyes  of  industry  shall  in  time  go  through-stitch 
with  the  new  suit  of  preferment. 

Ast.  Spoken  to  the  purpose,  my  fine-witted  brother 
Skelton ;  for  as  no  indenture  but  has  its  counterpane,  no 
noverint  but  his  condition  or  defeasance ;  so  no  right  but 
may  have  claim,  no  claim  but  may  have  possession,  any 
act  of  parliament  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 

Fri.  You  are  all  read  in  mysteries  of  state, 
And  quick  of  apprehension,  deep  in  judgment, 
Active  in  resolution ;  and  'tis  pity 
Such  counsel  should  lie  buried  in  obscurity. 
But  why,  in  such  a  time  and  cause  of  triumph, 
Stands  the  judicious  Mayor  of  Cork  so  silent? 
Believe  it,  sir,  as  English  Richard  prospers, 
You  must  not  miss  employment  of  high  nature. 

1  Heron,  or  Herne,  as  Bacon  calls  him,  was  a  mercer  ;  Skelton 
was  a  tailor  ;  and  Astley  a  scrivener  :  they  were  all  men  of  broken 
fortunes. —  Gifford. 


SCENE  in.]          PERKIN  WARBECK.  415 

J.  a-  Wat.  If  men  may  be  credited  in  their  mortality, 
which  I  dare  not  peremptorily  aver  but  they  may  or  not 
be,  presumptions  by  this  marriage  are  then,  in  sooth, 
of  fruitful  expectation.  Or  else  I  must  not  justify  other 
men's  belief,  more  than  other  should  rely  on  mine. 

Fri.  Pith  of  experience !  those  that  have  borne  office 
Weigh  every  word  before  it  can  drop  from  them. 
But,  noble  counsellors,  since  now  the  present 
Requires  in  point  of  honour, — pray,  mistake  not, — 
Some  service  to  our  lord,  'tis  fit  the  Scots 
Should  not  engross  all  glory  to  themselves 
At  this  so  grand  and  eminent  solemnity. 

SkeL  The  Scots  !  the  motion  is  defied  :  I  had  rather, 
for  my  part,  without  trial  of  my  country,  suffer  persecution 
under  the  pressing-iron  of  reproach  ;  or  let  my  skin  be 
punched  full  of  eyelet-holes  with  the  bodkin  of  derision. 

Ast.  I  will  sooner  lose  both  my  ears  on  the  pillory  of 
forgery. 

Her.  Let  me  first  live  a  bankrupt,  and  die  in  the  lousy 
Hole '  of  hunger,  without  compounding  for  sixpence  in 
the  pound. 

J.  a-  Wat.  If  men  fail  not  in  their  expectations,  there 
may  be  spirits  also  that  digest  no  rude  affronts,  Master 
Secretary  Frion,  or  I  am  cozened ;  which  is  possible,  I 
grant. 

Fri.  Resolved  like  men  of  knowledge :  at  this   feast, 

then, 

In  honour  of  the  bride,  the  Scots,  I  know, 
Will  in  some  show,  some  masque,  or  some  device, 
Prefer  their  duties  :  now  it  were  uncomely 
That  we  be  found  less  forward  for  our  prince 
Than  they  are  for  their  lady  ;  and  by  how  much 
We  outshine  them  in  persons  of  account, 
By  so  much  more  will  our  endeavours  meet  with 
A  livelier  applause.     Great  emperors 

1  That  part  of  the  Counter  prison  in  which  the  poorer  prisoners 
were  confined. 


4i 6  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  n. 

Have  for  their  recreations  undertook 

Such  kind  of  pastimes  :  as  for  the  conceit, 

Refer  it  to  my  study ;  the  performance 

You  all  shall  share  a  thanks  in  :  'twill  be  grateful. 

Her.  The  motion  is  allowed  :  I  have  stole  to  a  dancing 
school  when  I  was  a  prentice. 

Ast.  There  have  been  Irish  hubbubs,  when  I  have 
made  one  too. 

Skel.  For  fashioning  of  shapes  and  cutting  a  cross- 
caper,  turn  me  off  to  my  trade  again. 

J.  a-  Wat.  Surely  there  is,  if  I  be  not  deceived,  a  kind 
of  gravity  in  merriment ;  as  there  is,  or  perhaps  ought  to 
be,  respect  of  persons  in  the  quality  of  carriage,  which  is 
as  it  is  construed,  either  so  or  so, 

Fri.  Still  you  come  home  to  me  ;  upon  occasion 
I  find  you  relish  courtship  with  discretion  ; 
And  such  are  fit  for  statesmen  of  your  merits. 
Pray  ye  wait  the  prince,  and  in  his  ear  acquaint  him 
With  this  design  ;  I'll  follow  and  direct  ye. 

{Exeunt  all  but  FRION. 
O,  the  toil 

Of  humouring  this  abject  scum  of  mankind, 
Muddy-brained  peasants  !  princes  feel  a  misery 
Beyond  impartial  sufferance,  whose  extremes 
Must  yield  to  such  abettors  : — yet *  our  tide 
Runs  smoothly,  without  adverse  winds  :  run  on  ! 

Flow  to  a  full  sea  !  time  alone  debates 

Quarrels  forewritten  in  the  book  of  fates.  \Exit. 

1  i.e.  As  vet. 


ACT   THE   THIRD. 
SCENE  \.— Westminster.     The  Palace. 

Enter  King  HENRY,  with  his  gorget  on,  his  sword,  plume 
of  feathers,  and  truncheon,  followed  by  URSWICK. 

HEN.  How  runs  the  time  of  day? 
Urs.  Past  ten,  my  lord. 

K.  Hen.  A  bloody  hour  will  it  prove  to 

some, 
Whose  disobedience,  like  the  sons  o'  the 

earth, 

Throws  a  defiance  'gainst  the  face  of  heaven. 
Oxford,  with  Essex  and  stout  De  la  Pole, 
Have  quieted  the  Londoners,  I  hope, 
And  set  them  safe  from  fear. 

Urs.  They  are  all  silent 

K.  Hen.  From  their  own  battlements  they  may  behold 
Saint  George's-fields  o'erspread  with  armed  men  ; 
Amongst  whom  our  own  royal  standard  threatens 
Confusion  to  opposers  :  we  must  learn 
To  practise  war  again'  in  time  of  peace, 
Or  lay  our  crown  before  our  subjects'  feet ; 
Ha,  Urswick,  must  we  not  ? 

Urs.  The  powers  who  seated 

King  Henry  on  his  lawful  throne  will  ever 
Rise  up  in  his  defence. 

K.  Hen.  Rage  shall  not  fright 

The  bosom  of  our  confidence  :  in  Kent 

Ford.  v  p 


4i8  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  in. 

Our  Cornish  rebels,  cozened  of  their  hopes, 

Met  brave  resistance  by  that  country's  earl, 

George  Abergeny,  Cobham,  Poynings,  Guilford, 

And  other  loyal  hearts  ;  now,  if  Blackheath 

Must  be  reserved  the  fatal  tomb  to  swallow 

Such  stiff-necked  abjects  as  with  weary  marches 

Have  travelled  from  their  homes,  their  wives,  and  children, 

To  pay,  instead  of  subsidies,  their  lives, 

We  may  continue  sovereign.     Yet,  Urswick, 

We'll  not  abate  one  penny  what  in  parliament 

Hath  freely  been  contributed  ;  we  must  not ; 

Money  gives  soul  to  action.     Our  competitor, 

The  Flemish  counterfeit,  with  James  of  Scotland, 

Will  prove  what  courage  need  and  want  can  nourish, 

Without  the  food  of  fit  supplies  :— but,  Urswick, 

I  have  a  charm  in  secret  that  shall  loose 

The  witchcraft  wherewith  young  King  James  is  bound, 

And  free  it  at  my  pleasure  without  bloodshed. 

Urs.  Your  majesty's  a  wise  king,  sent  from  heaven, 
Protector  of  the  just. 

K.  Hen.  Let  dinner  cheerfully 

Be  served  in  ;'  this  day  of  the  week  is  ours, 
Our  day  of  providence  ;  for  Saturday 
Yet  never  failed  in  all  my  undertakings 
To  yield  me  rest  at  night.     {A  flourish.} — What  means 

this  warning  ? 
Good  fate,  speak  peace  to  Henry  1 

Enter  Lord  DAWBENEY,  Earl  of  OXFORD,  and  Attendants. 

Daw.  Live  the  king, 

Triumphant  in  the  ruin  of  his  enemies  ! 

Oxf.  The  head  of  strong  rebellion  is  cut  off, 
The  body  hewed  in  pieces. 

K.  Hen.  Dawbeney,  Oxford, 

Minions  to  noblest  fortunes,  how  yet  stands 
The  comfort  of  your  wishes  ? 

Daw.  Briefly  thus ; 


SCENE  L]  PERKIN  WARBECK.  419 

The  Cornish  under  Audley,  disappointed 

Of  flattered  expectation,  from  the  Kentish — 

Your  majesty's  rjght-trusty  liegemen — flew, 

Feathered  by  rage  and  heartened  by  presumption, 

To  take  the  field  even  at  your  palace-gates, 

And  face  you  in  your  chamber-royal :  arrogance 

Improved  their  ignorance ;  for  they,  supposing, 

Misled  by  rumour,  that  the  day  of  battle 

Should  fall  on  Monday,  rather  braved  your  forces 

Than  doubted  any  onset ;  yet  this  morning, 

When  in  the  dawning  I,  by  your  direction, 

Strove  to  get  Deptford-strand  bridge,  there  I  found 

Such  a  resistance  as  might  show  what  strength 

Could  make :  here  arrows  hailed  in  showers  upon  us 

A  full  yard  long  at  least ;  but  we  prevailed. 

My  Lord  of  Oxford,  with  his  fellow  peers 

Environing  the  hill,  fell  fiercely  on  them 

On  the  one  side,  I  on  the  other,  till,  great  sir, — 

Pardon  the  oversight, — eager  of  doing 

Some  memorable  act,  I  was  engaged 

Almost  a  prisoner,  but  was  freed  as  soon 

As  sensible  of  danger  :  now  the  fight 

Began  in  heat,  which  quenched  in  the  blood  of 

Two  thousand  rebels,  and  as  many  more 

Reserved  to  try  your  mercy,  have  returned 

A  victory  with  safety. 

K.  Hen.  Have  we  lost 

An  equal  number  with  them  ? 

Oxf.  In  the  total 

Scarcely  tour  hundred.     Audley,  Flammock,  Joseph, 
The  ringleaders  of  this  commotion, 
Railed l  in  ropes,  fit  ornaments  for  traitors, 
Wait  your  determinations. 

1  As  the  R  is  very  indistinct,  I  should  have  been  inclined,  per 
haps,  to  make  "  Haled"  out  of  it,  had  I  not  found  the  expression 
in  Bacon  ;  "  they  were  brought  to  London  all  railed  in  ropes,  like 
a  team  of  horses  in  a  cart." — Gijford. 


420  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  HI. 

K.  Hen.  We  must  pay 

Our  thanks  where  they  are  only  due  :  O,  lords, 
Here  is  no  victory,  nor  shall  our  people 
Conceive  that  we  can  triumph  in  their  falls. 
Alas,  poor  souls  !  let  such  as  are  escaped 
Steal  to  the  country  back  without  pursuit : 
There's  not  a  drop  of  blood  spilt  but  hath  drawn 
As   much   of  mine;  their   swords   could  have   wrought 

wonders 

On  their  king's  part,  who  faintly  were  unsheathed 
Against  their  prince,  but  wounded  their  own  breasts. 
Lords,  we  are  debtors  to  your  care ;  our  payment 
Shall  be  both  sure  and  fitting  your  deserts. 

Daw.  Sir,  will  you  please  to  see  those  rebels,  heads 
Of  this  wild  monster-multitude  ? 

K.  Hen.  Dear  friend, 

My  faithful  Dawbeney.  no ;  on  them  our  justice 
Must  frown  in  terror ;  I  will  not  vouchsafe 
An  eye  of  pity  to  them.     Let  false  Audley 
Be  drawn  upon  an  hurdle  from  the  Newgate 
To  Tower-hill  in  his  own  coat  of  arms 
Painted  on  paper,  with  the  arms  reversed, 
Defaced  and  torn  ;  there  let  him  lose  his  head.1 
The  lawyer  and  the  blacksmith  shall  be  hanged, 
Quartered  ;  their  quarters  into  Cornwall  sent 
Examples  to  the  rest,  whom  we  are  pleased 
To  pardon  and  dismiss  from  further  quest. — 
My  Lord  of  Oxford,  see  it  done. 

Oxf.  I  shall,  sir. 

K.  Hen.  Urswick  ! 

Urs.  My  lord  ? 

K.  Hen.  To  Dinham,  our  high-treasurer, 

Say,  we  command  commissions  be  new  granted 
For  the  collection  of  our  subsidies 

1  "  The  Lord  Audley  was  led  from  Newgate  to  Tower-hill,  in  a 
paper  coat  painted  with  his  own  arms,  the  arms  reversed,  the  coat 
torn,  and  at  Tower-hill  beheaded." — Bacon. 


SCENE  ii.]  PERKIN  WARBECK.  421 

Through  all  the  west,  and  that  speedily.  — 
Lords,  we  acknowledge  our  engagements  due 
For  your  most  constant  services. 

Daw,  Your  soldiers 

Have  manfully  and  faithfully  acquitted 
Their  several  duties. 

K.  Hen,  For  it  we  will  throw 

A  largess  free  amongst  them,  which  shall  hearten 
And  cherish-up  their  loyalties.     More  yet 
Remains  of  like  employment  ;  not  a  man 
Can  be  dismissed,  till  enemies  abroad, 
More  dangerous  than  these  at  home,  have  felt 
The  puissance  of  our  arms.     O,  happy  kings 
Whose  thrones  are  raised  in  their  subjects'  hearts! 

{Exeunt. 


SCENE  \\.-Edinburgh.     The  Palace. 
Enter  Earl  of  HUNTLEY  and  Lord  DALYELL. 

If  unt.  Now,  sir,  a  modest  word  with  you,  sad   gen 

tleman  : 

Is  not  this  fine,  I  trow,  to  see  the  gambols, 
To  hear  the  jigs,  observe  the  frisks,  be  enchanted 
With  the  rare  discord  of  bells,  pipes/  and  tabors, 
Hotch-potch  of  Scotch  and  Irish  twingle-twangles, 
Like  to  so  many  quiristers  of  Bedlam 
Trolling  a  catch  !     The  feasts,  the  manly  stomachs, 
The  healths  in  usquebaugh  and  bonny-clabber,1 
The  ale  in  dishes  never  fetched  from  China, 
The  hundred-thousand  knacks  not  to  be  spoken  of,— 
And  all  this  for  King  Oberon  and  Queen  Mab,  — 
Should  put  a  soul  into  ye.     Look  ye,  good  man, 
How  youthful  I  am  grown  :  but,  by  your  leave, 
This  new  queen-bride  must  henceforth  be  no  more 

1  A  common  name  for  curds-and-whey,  or  sour  buttermilk  ;  a 
favourite  drink  both  with  the  Scotch  and  Irish. 


422  PER  KIN  WARBECK,  [ACT  in. 

My  daughter ;  no,  by'r  lady,  'tis  unfit : 
And  yet  you  see  how  I  do  bear  this  change, 
Methinks  courageously  :  then  shake  off  care 
In  such  a  time  of  jollity. 

Dal.  Alas,  sir, 

How  can  you  cast  a  mist  upon  your  griefs  ? 
Which,  howsoe'er  you  shadow,  but  present 
To  any  judging  eye  the  perfect  substance, 
Of  which  mine  are  but  counterfeits. 

Hunt.  Foh,  Dalyell ! 

Thou  interrupt'st  the  part  I  bear  in  music 
To  this  rare  bridal-feast ;  let  us  be  merry, 
Whilst  flattering  calms  secure  us  against  storms  : 
Tempests,  when  they  begin  to  roar,  put  out 
The  light  of  peace,  and  cloud  the  sun's  bright  eye 
In  darkness  of  despair  ;  yet  we  are  safe. 

Dal.  I  wish  you  could  as  easily  forget 
The  justice  of  your  sorrows  as  my  hopes 
Can  yield  to  destiny. 

Hunt.  Pish  !  then  I  see 

Thou  dost  not  know  the  flexible  condition 
Of  my  apt  nature  :  I  can  laugh,  laugh  heartily, 
When  the  gout  cramps  my  joints  ;  let  but  the  stone 
Stop  in  my  bladder,  I  am  straight  a-singing  ; 
The  quartan-fever,  shrinking  every  limb, 
Sets  me  a-capering  straight ;  do  but  betray  me, 
And  bind  me  a  friend  ever  :  what !  I  trust 
The  losing  of  a  daughter,  though  I  doted 
On  every  hair  that  grew  to  trim  her  head, 
Admits  not  any  pain  like  one  of  these. 
Come,  thou'rt  deceived  in  me  :  give  me  a  blow, 
A  sound  blow  on  the  face,  I'll  thank  thee  for't ; 
I  love  my  wrongs :  still  thou'rt  deceived  in  me. 

Dal.  Deceived  !  O,  noble  Huntley,  my  few  years 
Have  learnt  experience  of  too  ripe  an-  age 
To  forfeit  fit  credulity  :  forgive 
My  rudeness,  I  am  bold. 


SCENE  ii.]  PERKIN  WARBECK.  423 

Hun1.  Forgive  me  first 

A  madness  of  ambition ;  by  example 
Teach  me  humility,  for  patience  scorns 
Lectures,  which  schoolmen  use  to  read  to  boys 
Uncapable  of  injuries :  though  old, 
I  could  grow  tough  in  fury,  and  disclaim 
Allegiance  to  my  king ;  could  fall  at  odds 
With  all  my  fellow-peers  that  durst  not  stand 
Defendants  'gainst  the  rape  done  on  mine  honour : 
But  kings  are  earthly  gods,  there  is  no  meddling 
With  their  anointed  bodies  ;  for  their  actions 
They  only  are  accountable  to  heaven. 
Yet  in  the  puzzle  of  my  troubled  brain 
One  antidote's  reserved  against  the  poison 
Of  my  distractions;  'tis  in  thee  t'  apply  it. 

Dal,  Name  it ;  O,  name  it  quickly,  sir  ! 

Hunt.  A  pardon 

For  my  most  foolish  slighting  thy  deserts  ; 
I  have  culled  out  this  time  to  beg  it :  prithee, 
Be  gentle  ;  had  I  been  so,  thou  hadst  owned 
A  happy  bride,  but  now  a  castaway, 
And  never  child  of  mine  more. 

Dal.  Say  not  so,  sir  ; 

It  is  not  fault  in  her. 

Hiint.  The  world  would  prate 

How  she  was  handsome ;  young  I  know  she  was, 
Tender,  and  sweet  in  her  obedience  : 
But  lost  now  :  what  a  bankrupt  am  I  made 
Of  a  full  stock  of  blessings  !     Must  I  hope 
A  mercy  from  thy  heart  ? 

Dal.  A  love,  a  service, 

A  friendship  to  posterity. 

Hunt.  Good  angels 

Reward  thy  charity  !     I  have  no  more 
But  prayers  left  me  now. 

Dal.  I'll  lend  you  mirth,  sir. 

If  you  will  be  in  consort. 


424 


PERKIN  WARBECK. 


[ACT  in. 


Hunt.  Thank  you  truly  : 

I  must ;  yes,  yes,  I  must ; — here's  yet  some  ease, 
A  partner  in  affliction!  :  look  not  angry. 

Dal.  Good,  noble  sir  !  \Flourish, 

Hunt.  O,  hark  !  we  may  be  quiet, 

The  King  and  all  the  others  come ;  a  meeting 
Of  gaudy  sights  :  this  day's  the  last  of  revels  ; 
To-morrow  sounds  of  war  ;  then  new  exchange  ; 
Fiddles  must  turn  to  swords. — Unhappy  marriage  ! 

A  flourish.  Enter  King  JAMES,  PERKIN  WARBECK  lead 
ing  Lady  KATHERINE,  Earl  of  CRAWFORD  and  his 
Countess  ;  JANE  DOUGLAS,  and  other  Ladies.  Earl 
of  HUNTLEY  and  Lord  DALYELL/<Z///;Z  among  them. 

K.  Ja.  Cousin  of  York,  you  and  your  princely  bride 
Have  liberally  enjoyed  such  soft  delights 
As  a  new-married  couple  could  forethink ; 
Nor  has  our  bounty  shortened  expectation  : 
But  after  all  those  pleasures  of  repose, 
Of  amorous  safety,  we  must  rouse  the  ease 
Of  dalliance  with  achievements  of  more  glory 
Than  sloth  and  sleep  can  furnish :  yet,  for  farewell, 
Gladly  we  entertain  a  truce  with  time, 
To  grace  the  joint  endeavours  of  our  servants. 

War.  My  royal  cousin,  in  your  princely  favour 
The  extent  of  bounty  hath  been  so  unlimited, 
As  only  an  acknowledgment  in  words 
Would  breed  suspicion  in  our  state  and  quality. 
When  we  shall,  in  the  fulness  of  our  fate, — 
Whose  minister,  necessity,  will  perfect, — 
Sit  on  our  own  throne ;  then  our  arms,  laid  open 
To  gratitude,  in  sacred  memory 
Of  these  large  benefits,  shall  twine  them  close, 
Even  to  our  thoughts  and  heart,  without  distinction. 
Then  James  and  Richard,  being  in  effect 
One  person,  shall  unite  and  rule  one  people, 
Divisible  in  titles  only. 


SCENE  ii.]  PERKIN  WARBECK.  425 

K.  Ja.  Seat  ye.— 

Are  the  presenters  ready  ? 

Craw,  All  are  entering. 

Hunt.  Dainty  sport  toward,  Dalyell  !  sit ;  come,  sit, 
Sit  and  be  quiet ;  here  are  kingly  bug's-words ! l 

Enter  at  one  door  Four  Scotch  Antics,  accordingly  habited; 
at  another,  WARBECK'S  followers,  disguised  as  Four 

^Wild  Irish  in  trowses?  long-haired,  and  accordingly 
habited.     Music.     A  dance  by  the  Masquers. 
K.  Ja.  To  all  a  general  thanks ! 
War.  In  the  next  room 

Take  your  own  shapes  again ;  you  shall  receive 
Particular  acknowledgment.  \Exeunt  the  Masquers. 

K.  Ja.  Enough 

Of  merriments. — Crawford,  how  far's  our  army 
Upon  the  march? 

Craw.  At  Hedon-hall,  great  king ;  ; 

Twelve  thousand,  well-prepared. 

K.  Ja.  Crawford,  to-night 

Post  thither.     We  in  person,  with  the  prince, 
By  four  o'clock  to-morrow  after  dinner 
Will  be  wi'  ye ;  speed  away ! 

Craw.  I  fly,  my  lord.  {Exit. 

K.  Ja.  Our  business  grows  to  head  now :  where's  your 

secretary, 
That  he  attends  ye  not  to  serve? 

War.  With  Marchmont, 

Your  herald. 

K.  Ja.  Good :  the  proclamation's  ready ; 

By  that  it  will  appear  how  the  English  stand 
Affected  to  your  title. — Huntley,  comfort 
Your  daughter  in  her  husband's  absence ;  fight 
With  prayers  at  home  for  us,  who  for  your  honours 
Must  toil  in  fight  abroad. 

1  Alarming  words  ;  "  bug  "  means  a  hobgoblin. 

2  Tight-fitting  drawers. 


426  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  in. 

Hunt.  Prayers  are  the  weapons 

Which  men  so  near  their  graves  as  I  do  use ; 
I've  little  else  to  do. 

K.  Ja.  To  rest,  young  beauties ! — 

We  must  be  early  stirring ;  quickly  part : 
A  kingdom's  rescue  craves  both  speed  and  art. — 
Cousins,  good-night.  [A  flourish. 

War.  Rest  to  our  cousin-king. 

Kath.  Your  blessing,  sir. 

Hunt.  Fair  blessings  on  your  highness !  sure,  you  need 
'em. 

[Exeunt  all  but  WARBECK,  Lady  KATHERINE, 
and  JANE. 

War.  Jane,  set  the  lights  down,  and  from  us  return 
To  those  in  the  next  room  this  little  purse ; 
Say  we'll  deserve  their  loves. 
Jane.  It  shall  be  done,  sir.   [Exit. 

War.  Now,  dearest,   ere  sweet  sleep  shall  seal  those 

eyes, 

Love's  precious  tapers,  give  me  leave  to  use 
A  parting  ceremony  ;  for  to-morrow 
It  would  be  sacrilege  t'  intrude  upon 
The  temple  of  thy  peace :  swift  as  the  morning 
Must  I  break  from  the  down  of  thy  embraces, 
To  put  on  steel,  and  trace  the  paths  which  lead 
Through  various  hazards  to  a  careful  throne. 

Kath.  My  lord,  I'd  fain  go  wi'  ye ;  there's  small  fortune 
In  staying  here  behind. 

War.  The  churlish  brow 

Of  war,  fair  dearest,  is  a  sight  of  horror 
For  ladies'  entertainment :  if  thou  hear'st 
A  truth  of  my  sad  ending  by  the  hand 
Of  some  unnatural  subject,  thou  withal 
Shalt  hear  how  I  died  worthy  of  my  right, 
By  falling  like  a  king ;  and  in  the  close, 
Which  my  last  breath  shall  sound,  thy  name,  thou  fairest, 
Shall  sing  a  requiem  to  my  soul,  unwilling 


SCENE  II.]  PERKIN  WARBECK.  427 

Only  of  greater  glory,  'cause  divided 

From  such  a  Heaven  on  earth  as  life  with  thee. 

But  these  are  chimes  for  funerals :  my  business 

Attends  on  fortune  of  a  sprightlier  triumph ; 

For  love  and  majesty  are  reconciled, 

And  vow  to  crown  thee  empress  of  the  west. 

Kath.  You  have  a  noble  language,  sir ;  your  right 
In  me  is  without  question,  and  however 
Events  of  time  may  shorten  my  deserts 
In  others'  pity,  yet  it  shall  not  stagger 
Or  constancy  or  duty  in  a  wife.         % 
You  must  be  king  of  me ;  and  my  poor  heart 
Is  all  I  can  call  mine. 

War.  But  we  will  live, 

Live,  beauteous  virtue,  by  the  lively  test 
Of  our  own  blood,  to  let  the  counterfeit 
Be  known  the  world's  contempt. 

Kath.  Pray,  do  not  use 

That  word ;  it  carries  fate  in't.     The  first  suit 
I  ever  made,  I  trust  your  love  will  grant. 

War.  Without  denial,  dearest. 

Kath.  That  hereafter, 

If  you  return  with  safety,  no  adventure 
May  sever  us  in  tasting  any  fortune : 
I  ne'er  can  stay  behind  again. 

War.  You're  lady 

Of  your  desires,  and  shall  command  your  will ; 
Yet  'tis  too  hard  to  promise. 

Kath.  What  our  destinies 

Have  ruled-out  in  their  books  we  must  not  search, 
But  kneel  to. 

War.  Then  to  fear  when  hope  is  fruitless, 

Were  to  be  desperately  miserable ; 
Which  poverty  our  greatness  dares  not  dream  of, 
And  much  more  scorns  to  stoop  to :  some  few  minutes 
Remain  yet ;  let's  be  thrifty  in  our  hopes.  {Exeunt. 


428  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  in. 

SCENE   III. — The  Palace  at  Westminster. 

Enter  King  HENRY,  HIALAS,  and  URSWICK. 

K.  Hen.  Your  name  is  Pedro  Hialas,1  a  Spaniard  ? 

Hial.  Sir,  a  Castilian  born. 

K.  Hen.  ,        King  Ferdinand, 

With  wise  Queen  Isabel  his  royal  consort, 
Write  ye  a  man  of  worthy  trust  and  candour. 
Princes  are  dear  to  heaven  who  meet  with  subjects 
Sincere  in  their  employments ;  such  I  find 
Your  commendation,  sir.     Let  me  deliver 
How  joyful  I  repute  the  amity 
With  your  most  fortunate  master,  who  almost 
Comes  near  a  miracle  in  his  success 
Against  the  Moors,  who  had  devoured  his  country, 
Entire  now  to  his  sceptre.     We,  for  our  part, 
Will  imitate  his  providence,  in  hope 
Of  partage  in  the  use  on't :  we  repute 
The  privacy  of  his  advisement  to  us 
By  you,  intended  an  ambassador 
To  Scotland,  for  a  peace  between  our  kingdoms, 
A  policy  of  love,  which  well  becomes 
His  wisdom  and  our  care. 

Hial.  Your  majesty 

Doth  understand  him  rightly. 

K.  Hen.  Else 

Your  knowledge  can  instruct  me;  wherein,  sir, 
To  fall  on  ceremony  would  seem  useless, 
Which  shall  not  need ;  for  I  will  be  as  studious 
Of  your  concealment  in  our  conference 
As  any  council  shall  advise. 

1  "  Amongst  these  troubles  came  into  England  from  Spain  Peter 
Hialas,  some  call  him  Elias  (surely  he  was  the  forerunner  of  the 
good  hap  that  we  enjoy  at  this  day  ;  for  his  ambassage  set  the  truce 
between  England  and  Scotland  ;  the  truce  drew  on  the  peace  ;  the 
peace  the  marriage:  and  the  marriage  the  union  of  the  kingdoms)  ; 
a  man  of  great  wisdom,  and,  as  those  times  were,  not  unlearned." 
— Bacon. 


SCENE  in.]          PERKIN  WARBECK.  429 

Hial  Then,  sir, 

My  chief  request  is,  that  on  notice  given 
At  my  dispatch  in  Scotland,  you  will  send 
Some  learned  man  of  power  and  experience 
To  join  entreaty  with  me. 

K.  Hen.  I  shall  do  it, 

Being  that  way  well  provided  by  a  servant 
Which  may  attend  ye  ever. 

Hial.  If  King  James, 

By  any  indirection,  should  perceive 
My  coming  near  your  court,  I  doubt  the  issue 
Of  my  employment. 

K.  Hen.  Be  not  your  own  herald : 

I  learn  sometimes  without  a  teacher. 

Hial.  Good  days 

Guard  all  your  princely  thoughts  ! 

K.  Hen.  Urswick,  no  further 

Than  the  next  open  gallery  attend  him. — 
A  hearty  love  go  with  you  ! 

Hial.  Your  vowed  beadsman.1 

{Exeunt  URSWICK  and  HIALAS. 

K.  Hen.  King  Ferdinand  is  not  so  much  a  fox, 
But  that  a  cunning  huntsman  may  in  time 
Fall  on  the  scent :  in  honourable  actions 
Safe  imitation  best  deserves  a  praise. 

Re-enter  URSWICK. 

What,  the  Castilian's  passed  away? 

Urs.  He  is, 

And  undiscovered;  the  two  hundred  marks 
Your  majesty  conveyed,  he  gently  pursed 
With  a  right  modest  gravity. 

K.  Hen.  What  was't 

He  muttered  in  the  earnest  of  his  wisdom  ? 
He  spoke  not  to  be  heard ;  'twas  about — 

1  Servant ;  literally  one  bound  to  pray  for  his  benefactor. 


43° 


PERKIN  WARBECR. 


[ACT  in. 


Urs.  Warbeck : 

How  if  King  Henry  were  but  sure  of  subjects, 
Such  a  wild  runagate  might  soon  be  caged, 
No  great  ado  withstanding. 

K.  Hen.  Nay,  nay;  something 

About  my  son  Prince  Arthur's  match. 

Urs.  Right,  right,  sir: 

He  hummed  it  out,  how  that  King  Ferdinand 
Swore  that  the  marriage  'twixt  the  Lady  Katherine 
His  daughter  and  the  Prince  of  Wales  your  son 
Should  never  be  consummated  as  long 
As  any  Earl  of  Warwick  lived  in  England, 
Except  by  new  creation. 

K.  Hen.  I  remember 

'Twas  so,  indeed :  the  king  his  master  swore  it  ? 

Urs.  Directly,  as  he  said. 

K.  Hen.  An  Earl  of  Warwick  ! — • 

Provide  a  messenger  for  letters  instantly 
To  Bishop  Fox.     Our  news  from  Scotland  creeps ; 
It  comes  so  slow,  we  must  have  airy  spirits ; 
Our  time  requires  dispatch. — \Aside\  The  Earl  of  War 
wick  ! 

Let  him  be  son  to  Clarence,  younger  brother 
To  Edward !  Edward's  daughter  is,  I  think, 
Mother  to  our  Prince  Arthur. — Get  a  messenger. 

{Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV. — Before  the  Castle  of  Nor  ham. 

Enter  King  JAMES,  PERKIN  WARBECK,  Earl  of  CRAW 
FORD,  Lord  DALYELL,  HERON,  ASTLEY,  JOHN  A- 
WATER,  SKELTON,  and  Soldiers. 

K.  Ja.  We  trifle  time  against  these  castle-walls  j 
The  English  prelate  will  not  yield :  once  more 
Give  him  a  summons.  '  [A  parley  is  sounded. 


SCENE  iv.]          PERKIN  WARE  EC K.  431 

Enter  on  the  walls  the  Bishop  of  DURHAM,  armed,  a  trun 
cheon  in  his  hand,  with  Soldiers. 

War.  See,  the  jolly  clerk 

Appears,  trimmed  like  a  ruffian ! 

K.  Ja.  Bishop,  yet 

Set  ope  the  ports,  and  to  your  lawful  sovereign, 

•  Richard  of  York,  surrender  up  this  castle, 
And  he  will  take  thee  to  his  grace ;  else  Tweed 
Shall  overflow  his  banks  with  English  blood, 
And  wash  the  sand  that  cements  those  hard  stones 
From  their  foundation. 

Dur.  Warlike  King  of  Scotland, 

Vouchsafe  a  few  words  from  a  man  enforced 
To  lay  his  book  aside,  and  clap  on  arms 
Unsuitable  to  my  age  or  my  profession. 
Courageous  prince,  consider  on  what  grounds 
You  rend  the  face  of  peace,  and  break  a  league 
With  a  confederate  king  that  courts  your  amity ; 
For  whom  too  ?  for  a  vagabond,  a  straggler, 
Not  noted  in  the  world  by  birth  or  name, 
An  obscure  peasant,  by  the  rage  of  hell 
Loosed  from  his  chains  to  set  great  kings  at  strife. 
What  nobleman,  what  common  man  of  note, 
What  ordinary  subject  hath  come  in, 
Since  first  you  footed  on  our  territories, 
To  only  feign  a  welcome  ?     Children  laugh  at 
Your  proclamations,  and  the  wiser  pity 
So  great  a  potentate's  abuse  by  one 
Who  juggles  merely  with  the  fawns  and  youth 
Of  an  instructed  compliment :  such  spoils, 
Such  slaughters  as  the  rapine  of  your  soldiers 
Already  have  committed,  is  enough 
To  show  your  zeal  in  a  conceited  justice. 
Yet,  great  king,  wake  not  yet  my  master's  vengeance 
But  shake  that  viper  off  which  gnaws  your  entrails. 
I  and  my  fellow-subjects  are  resolved, 


432  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  ill. 

If  you  persist,  to  stand  your  utmost  fury, 
Till  our  last  blood  drop  from  us. 

War.  O,  sir,  lend 

No  ear  to  this  traducer  of  my  honour ! — 
What  shall  I  call  thee,  thou  gray-bearded  scandal, 
That  kick'st  against  the  sovereignty  to  which 
Thou  ow'st  allegiance  ? — Treason  is  bold-faced 
And  eloquent  in  mischief:  sacred  king, 
Be  deaf  to  his  known  malice. 

Dur.  Rather  yield 

Unto  those  holy  motions  which  inspire 
The  sacred  heart  of  an  anointed  body. 
It  is  the  surest  policy  in  princes 
To  govern  well  their  own  than  seek  encroachment 
Upon  another's  right. 

Craw.  The  king  is  serious, 

Deep  in  his  meditations. 

Dal.  Lift  them  up 

To  Heaven,  his  better  genius  ! 

War.  Can  you  study 

While  such  a  devil  raves  ?     O,  sir ! 

K.Ja.  Well,  bishop, 

You'll  not  be  drawn  to  mercy? 

Dur.  Construe  me 

In  like  case  by  a  subject  of  your  own : 
My  resolution's  fixed :  King  James,  be  counselled, 
A  greater  fate  waits  on  thee. 

{Exeunt  Bishop  of  DURHAM  and  Soldiers 
from  the  walls. 

K.  Ja.  Forage  through 

The  country ;  spare  no  prey  of  life  or  goods. 

War.  O,  sir,  then  give  me  leave  to  yield  to  nature; 
I  am  most  miserable :  had  I  been 
Born  what  this  clergyman  would  by  defame 
Baffle  belief  with,  I  had  never  sought 
The  truth  of  mine  inheritance  with  rapes 
Of  women  or  of  infants  murdered,  virgins 


SCENE  iv.]  PERKIN  WARBECK.  433 

Deflowered,  old  men  butchered,  dwellings  fired, 
My  land  depopulated,  and  my  people 
Afflicted  with  a  kingdom's  devastation  : 
Show  more  remorse,  great  king,  or  I  shall  never 
Endure  to  see  such  havoc  with  dry  eyes ; 
Spare,  spare,  my  dear,  dear  England ! 

K.  Ja.  You  fool  your  piety 

Ridiculously  careful  of  an  interest 
Another  man  possesseth.     Where's  your  faction  ? 
Shrewdly  the  bishop  guessed  of  your  adherents, 
When  not  a  petty  burgess  of  some  town, 
No,  not  a  villager  hath  yet  appeared 
In  your  assistance  :  that  should  make  ye  whine, 
And  not  your  country's  sufferance,  as  you  term  it. 

Dal.  The  king  is  angry. 

Crew.  And  the  passionate  duke 

Effeminately  dolent. 

War.  The  experience 

In  former  trials,  sir,  both  of  mine  own 
Or  other  princes  cast  out  of  their  thrones, 
Have  so  acquainted  me  how  misery 
Is  destitute  of  friends  or  of  relief, 
That  I  can  easily  submit  to  taste 
Lowest  reproof  without  contempt  or  words. 

K.  Ja.  An  humble-minded  man  ! 

Enter  FRION. 

Now,  what  intelligence 
Speaks  Master  Secretary  Frion  ? 

Fri.  Henry 

Of  England  hath  in  open  field  o'erthrown 
The  armies  who  opposed  him  in  the  right 
Of  this  young  prince. 

K.  Ja.  His  subsidies,  you  mean  I— 

More,  if  you  have  it  ? 

Fri.  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey, 

Backed  by  twelve  earls  and  barons  of  the  north, 

tord.  K  F 


434  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  HI. 

An  hundred  knights  and  gentlemen  of  name, 
And  twenty  thousand  soldiers,  is  at  hand 
To  raise  your  siege.     Brooke,  with  a  goodly  navy, 
Is  admiral  at  sea  ;  and  Dawbeney  follows 
With  an  unbroken  army  for  a  second. 

War.  'Tis  false  !  they  come  to  side  with  us. 

K.  Ja.  Retreat ; 

We  shall  not  find  them  stones  and  walls  to  cope  with. — 
Yet,  Duke  of  York,  for  such  thou  sayst  thou  art, 
I'll  try  thy  fortune  to  the  height :  to  Surrey, 
By  Marchmont,  I  will  send  a  brave  defiance 
For  single  combat ;  once  a  king  will  venture 
His  person  to  an  earl,  with  condition 
Of  spilling  lesser  blood  :  Surrey  is  bold, 
And  James  resolved. 

War.  O,  rather,  gracious  sir, 

Create  me  to  this  glory,  since  my  cause 
Doth  interest  this  fair  quarrel ;  valued  least, 
I  am  his  equal. 

K.  Ja.  I  will  be  the  man. — 

March  softly  off :  where  victory  can  reap 

A  harvest  crowned  with  triumph,  toil  is  cheap.    {Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

SCENE  I. — The  English  Camp  near  Ay  ton,  on  the 
Borders. 

Enter  Earl  of  SURREY,  Bishop  of  DURHAM,  Soldiers,  with 
drums  and  colours. 

,UR.  Are  all  our  braving  enemies  shrunk 

back, 
Hid  in  the  fogs  of  their  distempered 

climate, 

Not  daring  to  behold  our  colours  wave 
In  spite  of  this  infected  air?     Can  they 
Look  on  the  strength  of  Cundrestine  defaced  ? 
The  glory -of  Hedon-hall  devasted  ?  that 
Of  Edington  cast  dows  ?  the  pile  of  Fulden 
O'erthrown  ?  and  this  the  strongest  of  their  forts, 
Old  Ayton-castle,1  yielded  and  demolished  ? 
And  yet  not  peep  abroad  ?     The  Scots  are  bold, 
Hardy  in  battle  ;  but  it  seems  the  cause 
They  undertake,  considered,  appears 
Unjointed  in  the  frame  on't. 

Dur.  Noble  Surrey, 

Our  royal  master's  wisdom  is  at  all  times 
His  fortune's  harbinger ;  for  when  he  draws 
His  sword  to  threaten  war,  his  providence 
Settles  on  peace,  the  crowning  of  an  empire. 

\A  trumpet  within. 

1  At  that  time  considered  one  of  the  strongest  places  between 
Berwick  and  Edinburgh. 


436  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  IV. 

Sur.  Rank  all  in  order :  'tis  a  herald's  sound ; 
Some  message  from  King  James  :  keep  a  fixed  station. 

Enter  MARCHMONT  and  another  in  Heralds'  coats. 

March.  From  Scotland's  awful  majesty  we  come 
Unto  the  English  general. 

Sur.  To  me  ? 

Say  on. 

March.  Thus,  then  ;  the  waste  and  prodigal 
Effusion  of  so  much  guiltless  blood 
As  in  two  potent  armies  of  necessity 
Must   glut   the   earth's   dry   womb,    his    sweet   compas 
sion 

Hath  studied  to  prevent ;  for  which  to  thee, 
Great  Earl  of  Surrey,  in  a  single  fight 
He  offers  his  own  royal  person  ;  fairly 
Proposing  these  conditions  only,  that 
If  victory  conclude  our  master's  right, 
The  earl  shall  deliver  for  his  ransom 
The  town  of  Berwick  to  him,  with  the  fishgarths  ; 

If  Surrey  shall  prevail,  the  king  will  pay 

A  thousand  pounds  down  present  for  his  freedom, 

And  silence  further  arms  :  so  speaks  King  James. 

Sur.  So  speaks  King  James  !  so  like  a  king  he  speaks. 

Heralds,  the  English  general  returns 

A  sensible  devotion  from  his  heart, 

His  very  soul,  to  this  unfellowed  grace  : 

For  let  the  king  know,  gentle  heralds,  truly, 

How  his  descent  from  his  great  throne,  to  honour 

A  stranger  subject  with  so  high  a  title 

As  his  compeer  in  arms,  hath  conquered  more 

Than  any  sword  could  do ;  for  which — my  loyalty 

Respected — I  will  serve  his  virtues  ever 

In  all  humility :  but  Berwick,  say, 

Is  none  of  mine  to  part  with  ;  in  affairs 

Of  princes  subjects  cannot  traffic  rights 

Inherent  to  the  crown.     My  life  is  mine, 


SCEXE  i.]  PER  KIN  WARBECK.  437 

That  I  dare  freely  hazard  ;  and — with  pardon 
To  some  unbribed  vainglory — if  his  majesty 
Shall  taste  a  change  of  fate,  his  liberty 
Shall  meet  no  articles.     If  I  fall,  falling 
So  bravely,  I  refer  me  to  his  pleasure 
Without  condition  ;  and  for  this  dear  favour, 
Say,  if  not  countermanded,  I  will  cease 
Hostility,  unless  provoked. 

March.  This  answer 

We  shall  relate  unpartially. 

Dur(  With  favour, 

Pray  have  a  little  patience. — \Aside  to  SURREY]  Sir,  you 

find 

By  these  gay  flourishes  how  wearied  travail 
Inclines  a  willing  rest ;  here's  but  a  prologue, 
However  confidently  uttered,  meant 
For  some  ensuing  acts  of  peace  :  consider 
The  time  of  year,  unseasonableness  of  weather, 
Charge,  barrenness  of  profit ;  and  occasion 
Presents  itself  for  honourable  treaty, 
Which  we  may  make  good  use  of.     I  will  back, 
As  sent  from  you,  in  point  of  noble  gratitude 
Unto  King  James,  with  these  his  heralds :  you 
Shall  shortly  hear  from  me,  my  lord,  for  order 
Of  breathing  or  proceeding  ;  and  King  Henry, 
Doubt  not,  will  thank  the  service. 

Sur.  [Aside  to  DURHAM]  To  your  wisdom, 

Lord  Bishop,  I  refer  it. 

/;///-.  [  Aside  to  SURREY]  Be  it  so,  then. 

Sur.  Heralds,  accept  this  chain  and  these  few  crowns. 

March.  Our  duty,  noble  general. 

Dur.  In  part 

Of  retribution  for  such  princely  love, 
My  lord  the  general  is  pleased  to  show 
The  king  your  master  his  sincerest  zeal, 
By  further  treaty,  by  no  common  man  : 
I  will  myself  return  with  you. 


438  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  iv. 

Sur.  Y'  oblige 

My  faithfullest  affections  t'ye,  Lord  Bishop. 

March.  All  happiness  attend  your  lordship ! 

{Exit  with  Herald. 

Sur.  Come,  friends 

And  fellow-soldiers ;  we,  I  doubt,  shall  meet 
No  enemies  but  woods  and  hills  to  fight  with  ; 
Then  'twere  as  good  to  feed  and  sleep  at  home : 
We  may  be  free  from  danger,  not  secure.  {Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.— The  Scottish  Camp. 

Enter  PERKIN  WARBECK  and  FRION. 

War.  Frion,  O,  Frion,  all  my  hopes  of  glory 
Are  at  a  stand  !  the  Scottish  king  grows  dull, 
Frosty,  and  wayward,  since  this  Spanish  agent 
Hath  mixed  discourses  with  him  ;  they  are  private. 
I  am  not  called  to  council  now  : — confusion 
X)n  all  his  crafty  shrugs !  I  feel  the  fabric 
Of  my  designs  are  tottering. 

Fri.  Henry's  policies 

Stir  with  too  many  engines. 

War.  Let  his  mines, 

Shaped  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  blow  up 
Works  raised  for  my  defence,  yet  can  they  never 
Toss  into  air  the  freedom  of  my  birth, 
Or  disavow  my  blood  Plantagenet's  : 
I  am  my  father's  son  still.     But,  O,  Frion, 
When  I  bring  into  count  with  my  disasters 
My  wife's  compartnership,  my  Kate's,  my  life's, 
Then,  then  my  frailty  feels  an  earthquake.     Mischief 
Damn  Henry's  plots  !  I  will  be  England's  king, 
Or  let  my  aunt  of  Burgundy  report 
My  fall  in  the  attempt  deserved  our  ancestors  ! 


SCENE  ii.]  PERKIN  WARBECK.  439 

Fri.  You  grow  too  wild  in  passion  :  if  you  will 
Appear  a  prince  indeed,  confine  your  will 
To  moderation. 

War.  What  a  saucy  rudeness 

Prompts  this  distrust!     If?     If  I  will  appear! 
Appear  a  prince  !  death  throttle  such  deceits 
Even  in  their  birth  of  utterance !  cursed  cozenage 
Of  trust !     Ye  make  me  mad :  'twere  best,  it  seems, 
That  I  should  turn  impostor  to  myself, 
Be  mine  own  counterfeit,  belie  the  truth 
Of  my  dear  mother's  womb,  the  sacred  bed 
Of  a  prince  murdered  and  a  living  baffled ! 

Fri.  Nay,  if  you  have  no  ears  to  hear,  I  have 
No  breath  to  spend  in  vain. 

War.  Sir,  sir,  take  heed ! 

Gold  and  the  promise  of  promotion  rarely 
Fail  in  temptation. 

Fri.  Why  to  me  this? 

War.  Nothing. 

Speak  what  you  will ;  we  are  not  sunk  so  low 
But  your  advice  may  piece  again  the  heart 
Which  many  cares  have  broken :  you  were  wont 
In  all  extremities  to  talk  of  comfort ; 
Have  ye  none  left  now?  I'll  not  interrupt  ye. 
Good,  bear  with  my  distractions !     If  King  James 
Deny  us  dwelling  here,  next  whither  must  I  ? 
I  prithee,  be  not  angry. 

Fri.  Sir,  I  told  ye 

Of  letters  come  from  Ireland ;  how  the  Cornish 
Stomach  their  last  defeat,  and  humbly  sue 
That  with  such  forces  as  you  could  partake 
You  would  in  person  land  in  Cornwall,  where 
Thousands  will  entertain  your  title  gladly. 

War.  Let   me   embrace   thee,  hug  thee ;    thou'st   re 
vived 
My  comforts  ;  if  my  cousin-king  will  fail, 

O'T  r;ii'^"  YT'll   ni  ' 


440  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  iv. 

Enter  JOHN  A- WATER,  HERON,  ASTLEY,  and  SKELTON. 

Welcome,  my  tried  friends  ! 
You  keep  your  brains  awake  in  our  defence. — 
Frion,  advise  with  them  of  these  affairs, 
In  which  be  wondrous  secret ;  I  will  listen 
What  else  concerns  us  here :  be  quick  and  wary.      \Exit. 

Ast.  Ah,  sweet  young  prince ! — Secretary,  my  fellow- 
counsellors  and  I  have  consulted,  and  jump  all  in  one 
opinion  directly ;  an  if  these  Scotch  garboils *  do  not  fadge 
to  our  minds,  we  will  pell-mell  run  amongst  the  Cornish 
choughs  presently  and  in  a  trice. 

Skel.  'Tis  but  going  to  sea  and  leaping  ashore,  cut  ten 
or  twelve  thousand  unnecessary  throats,  fire  seven  or 
eight  towns,  take  half  a  dozen  cities,  get  into  the  market 
place,  crown  him  Richard  the  Fourth,  and  the  business  is 
finished. 

J.  a-  Wat.  I  grant  ye,  quoth  I,  so  far  forth  as  men  may 
do,  no  more  than  men  may  do  ;  for  it  is  good  to  con 
sider  when  consideration  may  be  to  the  purpose,  other 
wise —  still  you  shall  pardon  me  —  little  said  is  soon 
amended. 

Fri.  Then  you  conclude  the  Cornish  action  surest  ? 

Her,  We  do  so,  and  doubt  not  but  to  thrive  abundantly. 
Ho,  my  masters,  had  we  known  of  the  commotion  when 
we  set  sail  out  of  Ireland,  the  land  had  been  ours  ere  this 
time. 

Skel,  Pish,  pish  !  'tis  but  forbearing  being  an  earl  or  a 
duke  a  month  or  two  longer.  I  say,  and  say  it  again,  if 
the  work  go  not  on  apace,  let  me  never  see  new  fashion 
more.  I  warrant  ye,  I  warrant  ye ;  we  will  have  it  so, 
and  so  it  shall  be. 

Ast.  This  is  but  a  cold  phlegmatic  country,  not  stirring 
enough  for  men  of  spirit.  Give  me  the  heart  of  England 
for  my  money! 

Skel.  A  man  may  batten  there  in  a  week  only,  with 
hot  loaves  and  butter,  and  a  lusty  cup  of  muscadine  and 
1  Tumults, 


SCENE  HI.]         PERKIN  WARBECK.  441 

sugar  at  breakfast,  though  he  make  never  a  meal  all  the 
month  after. 

J  a-  Wat.  Surely,  when  I  bore  office  I  found  by  expe 
rience  that  to  be  much  troublesome  was  to  be  much  wise 
and  busy:  :I  have  observed  how  filching  and  bragging 
has  been  the  best  service  in  these  last  wars ;  and  there 
fore  conclude  peremptorily  on  the  design  in  England. 
If  things  and  things  may  fall  out,  as  who  can  tell  what  or 
how — but  the  end  will  show  it. 

Fri.  Resolved  like  men  of  judgment !     Here  to  linger 
More  time  is  but  to  lose  it :  cheer  the  prince 
And  haste  him  on  to  this ;  on  this  depends 
Fame  in  success,  or  glory  in  our  ends.  \Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. — Another  part  of  the  same. 
Enter  King  JAMES,  the  Bishop  of  DURHAM,  and  HIALAS. 

Hial.  France,  Spain,  and  Germany  combine  a  league 
Of  amity  with  England  :  nothing  wants 
For  settling  peace  through  Christendom,'  but  love 
Between  the  British  monarchs,  James  and  Henry. 

Dur.  The  English  merchants,  sir,  have  been  received 
With  general  procession  into  Antwerp  ; 
The  emperor  confirms  the  combination. 

Hial.  The  king  of  Spain  resolves  a  marriage 
For  Katherine  his  daughter  with  Prince  Arthur. 

Dur.  France  courts  this  early  contract. 

Hial.  What  can  hinder 

A  quietness  in  England  ? — 

Dur.  But  your  suffrage 

To  such  a  silly  creature,  mighty  sir, 
As  is  but  in  effect  an  apparition, 
A  shadow,  a  mere  trifle  ? 

Hial.  To  this  union 

The  good  of  both  the  church  and  commonwealth 
Invite  ye. 


442  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  iv. 

Dur,       To  this  unity,  a  mystery 
Of  providence  points  out  a  greater  blessing 
For  both  these  nations  than  our  human  reason 
Can  search  into.     King  Henry  hath  a  daughter, 
The  Princess  Margaret ;  I  need  not  urge 
What  honour,  what  felicity  can  follow 
On  such  affinity  'twixt  two  Christian  kings 
Inleagued  by  ties  of  blood  ;  but  sure  I  am, 
If  you,  sir,  ratify  the  peace  proposed, 
I  dare  both  motion  and  effect  this  marriage 
For  weal  of  both  the  kingdoms. 

K.  Ja.  Dar'st  thou,  lord  bishop  ? 

Dur.  Put  it  to  trial,  royal  James,  by  sending 
Some  noble  personage  to  the  English  court 
By  way  of  embassy. 

Hial.  Part  of  the  business 

Shall  suit  my  mediation. 

K.  Ja.  Well;  what  Heaven 

Hath  pointed  out  to  be,  must  be :  you  two 
Are  ministers,  I  hope,  of  blessed  fate. 
But  herein  only  I  will  stand  acquitted, 
No  blood  of  innocents  shall  buy  my  peace : 
For  Warbeck,  as  you  nick  him,  came  to  me, 
Commended  by  the  states  of  Christendom, 
A  prince,  though  in  distress ;  his  fair  demeanour, 
Lovely  behaviour,  unappalled  spirit, 
Spoke  him  not  base  in  blood,  however  clouded. 
The  brute  beasts  have  both  rocks  and  caves  to  fly  to, 
And  men  the  altars  of  the  church  ;  to  us 
He  came  for  refuge  :  kings  come  near  in  nature 
Unto  the  gods  in  being  touched  with  pity. 
Yet,  noble  friends,  his  mixture  with  our  blood, 
Even  with  our  own,  shall  no  way  interrupt 
A  general  peace ;  only  I  will  dismiss  him 
From  my  protection,  throughout  my  dominions. 
In  safety;  but  not  ever  to  return. 

TTiaJ.  You  are  a  just  kinrr. 


SCENE  in.]          PERKIN  WARBECK.  443 

Ditr.  Wise,  and  herein  happy. 

K.  Ja,  Nor  will  we  dally  in  affairs  of  weight : 
Huntley,  lord  bishop,  shall  with  you  to  England 
Ambassador  from  us  :  we  will  throw  down 
Our  weapons ;  peace  on  all  sides  !     Now  repair 
Unto  our  council ;  we  will  soon  be  with  you. 

Hial.  Delay  shall  question  no  dispatch  ;  Heaven  crown 
it.  \Exeunt  Bishop  of  DURHAM  and  HIALAS. 

K.  Ja.  A  league  with  Ferdinand  !  a  marriage 
With  English  Margaret !  a  free  release 
From  restitution  for  the  late  affronts  ! 
Cessation  from  hostility  !  and  all 
For  Warbeck,  not  delivered,  but  dismissed  ! 
We  could  not  wish  it  better. — Dalyell ! 

Enter  Lord  DALYELL. 

Dal.  Here  sir. 

K.  Ja.  Are  Huntley  and  his  daughter  sent  for? 

Dal.  Sent  for 

And  come,  my  lord. 

K.  Ja.  Say  to  the  English  prince, 

We  want  his  company. 

Dal.  He  is  at  hand,  sir. 

Enter  PERKIN  WARBECK,  Lady  KATHERINE,  JANE,  FRION, 
HERON,  SKELTON,  JOHN  A- WATER,  and  ASTLEY. 

K.  Ja.  Cousin,  our  bounty,  favours,  gentleness, 
Our  benefits,  the  hazard  of  our  person, 
Our  people's  lives,  our  land,  hath  evidenced 
How  much  we  have  engaged  on  your  behalf : 
How  trivial  and  how  dangerous  our  hopes 
Appear,  how  fruitless  our  attempts  in  war, 
How  windy,  rather  smoky,  your  assurance 
Of  party  shows,  we  might  in  vain  repeat : 
But  now  obedience  to  the  mother  church, 
A  father's  care  upon  his  country's  weal, 
Tru'  di  rr;tv  'vi-  wisd< 


444  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  iv. 

To  seal  an  oath  of  peace  through  Christendom  ; 
To  which  we're  sworn  already :  it  is  you 
Must  only  seek  new  fortunes  in  the  world, 
And  find  an  harbour  elsewhere.     As  I  promised 
On  your  arrival,  you  have  met  no  usage 
Deserves  repentance  in  your  being  here  ; 
But  yet  I  must  live  master  of  mine  own  : 
However,  what  is  necessary  for  you 
At  your  departure,  I  am  well  content 
You  be  accommodated  with,  provided 
Delay  prove  not  my  enemy. 

War.  It  shall  not 

Most  glorious  prince.     The  fame  of  my  designs 
Soars  higher  than  report  of  ease  and  sloth 
Can  aim  at :  I  acknowledge  all  your  favours 
Boundless  and  singular ;  am  only  wretched 
In  words  as  well  as  means  to  thank  the  grace 
That  flowed  so  liberally.     Two  empires  firmly 
You're  lord  of, — Scotland  and  Duke  Richard's  heart : 
My  claim  to  mine  inheritance  shall  sooner 
Fail  than  my  life  to  serve  you,  best  of  kings  ; 
And,  witness  Edward's  blood  in  me  !  I  am 
More  loth  to  part  with  such  a  great  example 
Of  virtue  than  all  other  mere  respects. 
But,  sir,  my  last  suit  is,  you  will  not  force 
From  me  what  you  have  given, — this  chaste  lady, 
Resolved  on  all  extremes. 

Kath.  I  am  your  wife  ; 

No  human  power  can  or  shall  divorce 
My  faith  from  duty. 

War.  Such  another  treasuie 

The  earth  is  bankrupt  of. 

K.  Ja.  I  gave  her,  cousin, 

And  must  avow  the  gift ;  will  add  withal 
A  furniture  becoming  her  high  birth 
And  unsuspected  constancy ;  provide 
For  your  attendance  :  we  will  part  good  friends. 

\_Exit  with  Lord  DALYELL 


SCENE  in.]        PERKIN  WARBECK.  445 

War.  The  Tudor  hath  been  cunning  in  his  plots  : 
His  Fox  of  Durham  would  not  fail  at  last. 
But  what  ?  our  cause  and  courage  are  our  own  : 
Be  men,  my  friends,  and  let  our  cousin-king 
See  how  we  follow  fate  as  willingly 
As  malice  follows  us.     Ye're  all  resolved 
For  the  west  parts  of  England  ? 

All.  Cornwall,  Cornwall ! 

Fri.  The  inhabitants  expect  you  daily. 
War.  Cheerfully 

Draw  all  our  ships  out  of  the  harbour,  friends ; 
Our  time  of  stay  doth  seem  too  long,  we  must 
Prevent  intelligence  ;  about  it  suddenly. 
All.  A  prince,  a  prince,  a  prince  ! 

\Exeunt  HERON,  SKELTON,  ASTLEY,  and  JOHN 

A-WATER. 

War.  Dearest,  admit  not  into  thy  pure  thoughts 
The  least  of  scruples,  which  may  charge  their  softness 
With  burden  of  distrust.     Should  I  prove  wanting 
To  noblest  courage  now,  here  were  the  trial : 
But  I  am  perfect,  sweet ;  I  fear  no  change, 
More  than  thy  being  partner  in  my  sufferance. 

Kath.  My  fortunes,  sir,  have  armed  me  to  encounter 
What  chance  soe'er  they  meet  with. — Jane,  'tis  fit 
Thou  stay  behind,  for  whither  wilt  thou  wander  ? 

Jane.  Never  till  death  will  I  forsake  my  mistress, 
Nor  then  in  wishing  to  die  with  ye  gladly. 
Kath.  Alas,  good  soul ! 

Fri.  Sir,  to  your  aunt  of  Burgundy 

I  will  relate  your  present  undertakings  : 
From  her  expect  on  all  occasions  welcome. 
You  cannot  find  me  idle  in  your  services. 

War.  Go,  Frion,  go  :  wise  men  know  how  to  soothe 
Adversity,  not  serve  it :  thou  hast  waited 
Too  long  on  expectation  ;  never  yet 
Was  any  nation  read  of  so  besotted 
In  reason  as  t'  adore  the  setting  sun. 


446  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  iv. 

Fly  to  the  archduke's  court ;  say  to  the  duchess, 

Her  nephew,  with  fair  Katherine  his  wife, 

Are  on  their  expectation  to  begin 

The  raising  of  an  empire  :  if  they  fail, 

Yet  the  report  will  never.       Farewell,  Frion  ! 

\Exit  FRION. 

This  man,  Kate,  has  been  true,  though  now  of  late 
I  fear  too  much  familiar  with  the  Fox. 

Re-enter  Lord  DALYELL  with  the  Earl  of  HUNTLEY. 

Hunt.  I    come   to    take   my   leave :    you    need    not 

doubt 

My  interest  in  this  sometime  child  of  mine ; 
She's  all  yours  now,  good  sir. — O,  poor  lost  creature, 
Heaven  guard  thee  with  much  patience  !  if  thou  canst 
Forget  thy  title  to  old  Huntley's  family, 
As  much  of  peace  will  settle  in  thy  mind 
As  thou  canst  wish  to  taste  but  in  thy  grave. 
Accept  my  tears  yet,  prithee  ;  they  are  tokens 
Of  charity  as  true  as  of  affection. 

Kath.  This  is  the  cruell'st  farewell ! 

Hunt.  Love,  young  gentleman, 

This  model  of  my  griefs  ;  she  calls  you  husband ; 
Then  be  not  jealous  of  a  parting  kiss, — 
It  is  a  father's,  not  a  lover's  offering ; 
Take  it,  my  last  \Kisses  her]. — I  am  too  much  a  child. 
Exchange  of  passion  is  to  little  use, 
So  I  should  grow  too  foolish  :  goodness  guide  thee  ! 

[Exit. 

Kath.  Most  miserable  daughter  ! — Have  you  aught 
To  add,  sir,  to  our  sorrows  ? 

Dal.  I  resolve, 

Fair  lady,  with  your  leave,  to  wait  on  all 
Your  fortunes  in  my  person,  if  your  lord 
Vouchsafe  me  entertainment. 

War.  We     will     be     bosom-friends,     most     noble 
Dalyell; 


SCENE  iv.]        PERKIN  WARBECK.  447 

For  I  accept  this  tender  of  your  love 

Beyond  ability  of  thanks  to  speak  it. — 

Clear  thy  drowned  eyes,  my  fairest :  time  and  industry 

Will  show  us  better  days,  or  end  the  worst.          {Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.—  The  Palace  at  Westminster: 
Enter  Earl  of  OXFORD  and  Lord  DAWBENEY. 

Ox/.  No  news  from  Scotland  yet,  my  lord  ? 

Daw.  Not  any 

But  what  King  Henry  knows  himself :  I  thought 
Our  armies  should  have  marched  that  way ;  his  mind, 
It  seems,  is  altered. 

Oxf.  Victory  attends 

His  standard  everywhere. 

Daw.  Wise  princes,  Oxford, 

Fight  not  alone  with  forces.     Providence 
Directs  and  tutors  strength  ;  else  elephants 
And  barbed  horses  might  as  well  prevail 
As  the  most  subtle  stratagems  of  war. 

Oxf.   The  Scottish  king  showed  more  than  common 

bravery 

In  proffer  of  a  combat  hand  to  hand 
With  Surrey. 

Daw.  And  but  showed  it :  northern  bloods 

Are  gallant  being  fired  ;  but  the  cold  climate, 
Without  good  store  of  fuel,  quickly  freezeth 
The  glowing  flames. 

Oxf.  Surrey,  upon  my  life, 

Would  not  have  shrunk  an  hair's-breadth. 

Daw.  May  he  forfeit 

The  honour  of  an  English  name  and  nature, 
Who  would  not  have  embraced  it  with  a  greediness 
As  violent  as  hunger  runs  to  food  ! 
'Twas  an  addition  any  worthy  spirit 


448  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  iv. 

Would  covet,  next  to  immortality, 

Above  all  joys  of  life  :  we  all  missed  shares 

In  that  great  opportunity. 

Enter  King  HENRY,  in  close  conversation  with  URSWICK. 

Oxf.  The  king ! 

See,  he  comes  smiling. 

Daw.  O,  the  game  runs  smooth 

On  his  side,  then,  believe  it :  cards  well  shuffled 
And  dealt  with  cunning  bring  some  gamester  thrift, 
But  others  must  rise  losers. 

K.  Hen.  The  train  takes  ? 

Urs.  Most  prosperously. 

K.  Hen.  I  knew  it  should  not  miss. 

He  fondly  angles  who  will  hurl  his  bait 
Into  the  water  'cause  the  fish  at  first 
Plays  round  about  the  line  and  dares  not  bite. — 
Lords,  we  may  reign  your  king  yet :  Dawbeney,  Oxford, 
Urswick,  must  Perkin  wear  the  crown  ? 

Daw.  A  slave ! 

Oxf.  A  vagabond  ! 

Urs.  A  glow-worm ! 

K.  Hen.  Now,  if  Frion, 

His  practised  politician,  wear  a  brain 
Of  proof,  King  Perkin  will  in  progress  ride 
Through  all  his  large  dominions  ;  let  us  meet  him, 
And  tender  homage  :  ha,  sirs  !  liegemen  ought 
To  pay  their  fealty. 

Daw.  Would  the  rascal  were, 

With  all  his  rabble,  within  twenty  miles 
Of  London  ! 

K.  Hen.         Farther  off  is  near  enough 
To  lodge  him  in  his  home :  I'll  wager  odds, 
Surrey  and  all  his  men  are  either  idle 
Or  hasting  back  ;  they  have  not  work,  I  doubt, 
To  keep  them  busy. 

Daw.  'Tis  a  strange  conceit,  sir. 


SCENE  iv.]         PERKIN  WARE  EC K.  449 

K.  Hen.  Such  voluntary  favours  as  our  people 
In  duty  aid  us  with,  we  never  scattered 
On  cobweb  parasites,  or  lavished  out 
In  riot  or  a  needless  hospitality : 
No  undeserving  favourite  doth  boast 
His  issues  from  our  treasury  ;  our  charge  , 
Flows  through  all  Europe,  proving  us  but  steward 
Of  every  contribution  which  provides 
Against  the  creeping  canker  of  disturbance. 
Is  it  not  rare,  then,  in  this  toil  of  state 
Wherein  we  are  embarked,  with  breach  of  sleep, 
Cares,  and  the  noise  of  trouble,  that  our  mercy 
Returns  nor  thanks  nor  comfort  ?     Still  the  West 
Murmur  and  threaten  innovation, 
Whisper  our  government  tyrannical, 
Deny  us  what  is  ours,  nay,  spurn  their  lives, 
Of  which  they  are  but  owners  by  our  gift : 
It  must  not  be. 

Oxf.  It  must  not,  should  not. 

Enter  Messenger  with  a  packet. 

K.  Hen.  So  then — 

To  whom  ? 

Mess.          This  packet  to  your  sacred  majesty. 

K.  Hen.  Sirrah,  attend  without.  {Exit  Messenger. 

Oxf.  News  from  the  North,  upon  my  life. 

Daw.  Wise  Henry 

Divines  aforehand  of  events  ;  with  him 
Attempts  and  executions  are  one  act. 

K.  Hen.  Urswick,   thine   ear:    Frion    is   caught;  the 

man 

Of  cunning  is  outreached ;  we  must  be  safe. 
Should  reverend  Morton,  our  archbishop,  move 
To  a  translation  higher  yet,  I  tell  thee 
My  Durham  owns  a  brain  deserves  that  see ; 
He's  nimble  in  his  industry,  and  mounting — 
Thou  hear'st  me? 

Ford. 


450  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  iv. 

Urs.  And  conceive  your  highness  fitly. 

K.  Hen.  Dawbeney  and  Oxford,  since  our  array  stands 
Entire,  it  were  a  weakness  to  admit 
The  rust  of  laziness  to  eat  amongst  them  : 
Set  forward  toward  Salisbury;  the  plains 
Are  most  commodious  for  their  exercise. 
Ourself  will  take  a  muster  of  them  there  ; 
And  or  disband  them  with  reward,  or  else 
Dispose  as  best  concerns  us. 

Daw.  Salisbury  ! 

Sir,  all  is  peace  at  Salisbury. 

K.  Hen.  Dear  friend, 

The  charge  must  be  our  own ;  we  would  a  little 
Partake  the  pleasure  with  our  subjects'  ease. — 
Shall  I  entreat  your  loves  ? 

Oxf.  Command  our  lives. 

K.  Hen.  Ye're  men  know  how  to  do,  not  to  forethink. 
My  bishop  is  a  jewel  tried  and  perfect ; 
A  je\\  el,  lords.     The  post  who  brought  these  letters 
Must  speed  another  to  the  Mayor  of  Exeter ; 
Urswick,  dismiss  him  not. 

Urs.  He  waits  your  pleasure. 

K.  Hen.  Perkin  a  king  ?  a  king  ! 

Urs.  My  gracious  lord, — 

K.  Hen.  Thoughts  busied  in  the  sphere  of  royalty 
Fix  not  on  creeping  worms  without  their  stings, 
Mere  excrements  of  earth.     The  use  of  time 
Is  thriving  safety,  and  a  wise  prevention 
Of  ills  expected.     We're  resolved  for  Salisbury. 

\Excunt. 


SCENE  V.—The  Coast  of  Cornwall. 
A  general  shout  within.     Enter  PERKIN  WARBECK,  Lord 

DALYELL,  Lady  KATHERINE,  and  JANE. 
War.  After  so  many  storms  as  wind  and  seas 


SCENE  v.]         PERKIN  WARBECK.  451 

Have  threatened  to  our  weather-beaten  ships, 

At  last,  sweet  fairest,  we  are  safe  arrived 

On  our  dear  mother  earth,  ingrateful  only 

To  heaven  and  us  in  yielding  sustenance 

To  sly  usurpers  of  our  throne  and  right. 

These  general  acclamations  are  an  omen 

Of  happy  process  to  their  welcome  lord  : 

They  flock  in  troops,  and  from  all  parts  with  wings 

Of  duty  fly  to  lay  their  hearts  before  us. — 

Unequalled  pattern  of  a  matchless  wife, 

How  fares  my  dearest  yet  ? 

Kath,  Confirmed  in  health, 

By  which  I  may  the  better  undergo 
The  roughest  face  of  change  ;  but  I  shall  learn 
Patience  to  hope,  since  silence  courts  affliction, 
For  comforts,  to  this  truly  noble  gentleman, — 
Rare  unexampled  pattern  of  a  friend  ! — 
And  my  beloved  Jane,  the  willing  follower 
Of  all  misfortunes. 

Dal.  Lady,  I  return 

But  barren  crops  of  early  protestations, 
Frost-bitten  in  the  spring  of  fruitless  hopes. 

Jane.  I  wait  but  as  the  shadow  to  the  body ; 
For  madam,  without  you  let  me  be  nothing. 

War.  None  talk  of  sadness  •  we  are  on  the  way 
Which  leads  to  victory :  keep  cowards  thoughts 
With  desperate  sullenness !     The  lion  faints  not 
Locked  in  a  grate,  but  loose  disdains  all  force 
Which  bars  his  prey, — and  we  are  lion-hearted, — 
Or  else  no  king  of  beasts.   {Another  general  shout  u<itliin.~\ 

— Hark,  how  they  shout, 
Triu  mphant  in  our  cause  I  bold  confidence 
Marches  on  bravely,  cannot  quake  at  danger. 

Enter  SKKLTON. 

Skel.  Save  King  Richard  the  Fourth  !  save  thee,  king 
of  hearts  !     The  Cornish  blades  are  men  of  mettle ;  have 


452  PERKIN  WARE  EC K.  [ACT  iv. 

proclaimed,  through  Bodmin  and  the  whole  county,  my 
sweet  prince  Monarch  of  England:  four  thousand  tall 
yeomen,  with  bow  and  sword,  already  vow  to  live  and 
die  at  the  foot  of  King  Richard. 

Enter  ASTLEY. 

Ast.  The  mayor,  our  fellow-counsellor,  is  servant  for 
an  emperor.  Exeter  is  appointed  for  the  rendezvous, 
and  nothing  wants  to  victory  but  courage  and  resolution. 
Sigillatum  et  datum  detimo  Septembris,  anno  regni  regis 
primo,  et  c&tera  ;  confirmatum  est.  All's  cock-sure. 

War.  To  Exeter !  to  Exeter,  march  on  ! 
Commend  us  to  our  people  :  we  in  person 
Will  lend  them  double  spirits  ;  tell  them  so. 

Skel.  and  Ast.  King  Richard,  King  Richard ! 

{Exeunt  SKELTON  and  ASTLEY. 

War.  A  thousand  blessings  guard  our  lawful  arms  ! 
A  thousand  horrors  pierce  our  enemies'  souls  ! 
Pale  fear  unedge  their  weapons'  sharpest  points  ! 
And  when  they  draw  their  arrows  to  the  head, 
Numbness  shall  strike  their  sinews !     Such  advantage 
Hath  Majesty  in  its  pursuit  of  justice, 
That  on  the  proppers-up  of  Truth's  old  throne 
It  both  enlightens  counsel  and  gives  heart 
To  execution  ;  whiles  the  throats  of  traitors 
Lie  bare  before  our  mercy.     O,  divinity 
Of  royal  birth !  how  it  strikes  dumb  the  tongues 
Whose  prodigality  of  breath  is  bribed 
By  trains  to  greatness  !     Princes  are  but  men 
Distinguished  in  the  fineness  of  their  frailty, 
Yet  not  so  gross  in  beauty  of  the  mind ; 
For  there's  a  fire  more  sacred  purifies 
The  dross  of  mixture.     Herein  stand  the  odds, 
Subjects  are  men  on  earth,  kings  men  and  gods. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 


SCENE  I.— St.  Michael's  Mount,  Cornwall. 

Enter  Lady  KATHERINE  and  JANE  in  riding-suits,  with 
one  Servant. 

£  ADY   KATH.  It   is   decreed ;  and   we 

must  yield  to  fate, 
Whose  angry  justice,  though  it  threaten 

ruin, 

Contempt,  and  poverty,  is  all  but  trial 
Of  a  weak  woman's  constancy  in  suffering. 
Here,  in  a  stranger's  and  an  enemy's  land, 
Forsaken  and  unfurnished  of  all  hopes 
But  such  as  wait  on  misery,  I  range, 
To  meet  affliction  wheresoe'er  I  tread. 
My  train  and  pomp  of  servants  is  reduced 
To  one  kind  gentlewoman  and  this  groom.— 
Sweet  Jane,  now  whither  must  we  ? 

Jane.  To  your  ships, 

Dear  lady,  and  turn  home. 

Kath.  Home  !  I  have  none. 

Fly  thou  to  Scotland;  thou  hast  friends  will  weep 
For  joy  to  bid  thee  welcome ;  but,  O,  Jane, 
My  Jane  !  my  friends  are  desperate  of  comfort, 
As  I  must  be  of  them  :  the  common  charity, 
Good  people's  alms  and  prayers  of  the  gentle, 
Is  the  revenue  must  support  my  state. 
As  for  my  native  country,  since  it  once 
Saw  me  a  princess  in  the  height  of  greatness 


454  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  V. 

My  birth  allowed  me,  here  I  make  a  vow 
Scotland  shall  never  see  me  being  fall'n 
Or  lessened  in  my  fortunes.     Never,  Jane, 
Never  to  Scotland  more  will  I  return. 
Could  I  be  England's  queen, — a  glory,  Jane, 
I  never  fawned  on, — yet  the  king  who  gave  me 
Hath  sent  me  with  my  husband  from  his  presence, 
Delivered  us  suspected  to  his  nation, 
Rendered  us  spectacles  to  time  and  pity  ; 
And  is  it  fit  I  should  return  to  such 
As  only  listen  after  our  descent 
From  happiness  enjoyed  to  misery 
Expected,  though  uncertain  ?     Never,  never  ! 
Alas,  why  dost  thou  weep  ?  and  that  poor  creature 
Wipe  his  wet  cheeks  too  ?  let  me  feel  alone 
Extremities,  who  know  to  give  them  harbour ; 
Nor  thou  nor  he  has  cause :  you  may  live  safely. 

Jane.  There  is  no  safety  whiles  your  dangers,  madam, 
Are  every  way  apparent. 

Serv.  Pardon,  lady, 

I  cannot  choose  but  show  my  honest  heart ; 
You  were  ever  my  good  lady. 

Kath.  0,  dear  souls, 

Your  shares  in  grief  are  too-too  much  ! 

Enter  Lord  DALYELL. 

Dal.  I  bring, 

Fair  princess,  news  of  further  sadness  yet 
Than  your  sweet  youth  hath  been  acquainted  with. 

Kath.  Not  more,  my  lord,  than  I  can  welcome  :  speak 

it; 

The  worst,  the  worst  I  look  for. 

Dal.  All  the  Cornish 

At  Exeter  were  by  the  citizens 
Repulsed,  encountered  by  the  Earl  of  Devonshire 
And  other  worthy  gentlemen  of  the  country. 
Your  husband  marched  to  Taunton,  and  was  there 


SCENE  i.]  PERKIN  WARBECK.  455 

Affronted  :  by  King  Henry's  chamberlain  ; 

The  king  himself  in  person  with  his  army 

Advancing  nearer,  to  renew  the  fight 

On  all  occasions  :  but  the  night  before 

The  battles  were  to  join,  your  husband  privately, 

Accompanied  with  some  few  horse,  departed 

From  out  the  camp,  and  posted  none  knows  whither. 

Kath.  Fled  \yithout  battle  given  ? 

Dal.  Fled,  but  followed 

By  Dawbeney ;  all  his  parties  left  to  taste 
King  Henry's  mercy,- — for  to  that  they  yielded, — 
Victorious  without  bloodshed. 

Kath.  0,  my  sorrows  ! 

If  both  our  lives  had  proved  the  sacrifice 
To  Henry's  tyranny,  we  had  fall'n  like  princes, 
And  robbed  him  of  the  glory  of  his  pride. 

Dal.  Impute  it  not  to  faintness  or  to  weakness 
Of  noble  courage,  lady,  but  to  foresight ; 
For  by  some  secret  friend  he  had  intelligence 
Of  being  bought  and  sold  by  his  base  followers. 
Worse  yet  remains  untold. 

Kath.  No,  no,  it  cannot. 

Dal.  I  fear  you  are  betrayed  :  the  Earl  of  Oxford 
Runs  hot  in  your  pursuit.2 

Kath.  He  shall  not  need  ; 

We'll  run  as  hot  in  resolution  gladly 
To  make  the  earl  our  jailor. 

Jane.  Madam,  madam, 

They  come,  they  come  ! 

Enter  Earl  of  OXFORD  with  his  Followers. 

Dal.  Keep  back !  or  he  who  dares 

Rudely  to  violate  the  law  of  honour 

1  Confronted. 

-  "  There  were  also  sent  with  all  speed  some  horse  to  St. 
Michael's  Mount  in  Cornwall,  where  the  Lady  K.utheiine  Gordon 
was  left  by  her  husband,  whom  in  all  fortunes  she  entirely  loved, 
adding  the  virtues  of  a  wife  to  the  virtues  of  her  sex." — Bacon* 


456  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  v. 

Runs  on  my  sword. 

Kath.  Most  noble  sir,  forbear. — 

What  reason  draws  you  hither,  gentlemen  ? 
Whom  seek  ye? 

Oxf.  All  stand  off !— With  favour,  lady, 

From  Henry,  England's  king,  I  would  present 
Unto  the  beauteous  princess,  Katherine  Gordon, 
The  tender  of  a  gracious  entertainment. 

Kath.  We  are  that  princess,  whom  your  master-king 
Pursues  with  reaching  arms  to  draw  into 
His  power  :  let  him  use  his  tyranny, 
We  shall  not  be  his  subject. 

Oxf.  My  commission 

Extends  no  further,  excellentest  lady, 
Than  to  a  service  ;  'tis  King  Henry's  pleasure 
That  you,  and  all  that  have  relation  t'ye, 
Be  guarded  as  becomes  your  birth  and  greatness  ; 
For,  rest  assured,  sweet  princess,  that  not  aught 
Of  what  you  do  call  yours  shall  find  disturbance, 
Or  any  welcome  other  than  what  suits 
Your  high  condition. 

Kath.  By  what  title,  sir, 

May  I  acknowledge  you? 

Oxf.  Your  servant,  lady, 

Descended  from  the  line  of  Oxford's  earls, 
Inherits  what  his  ancestors  before  him 
Were  owners  of. 

Kath.  Your  king  is  herein  royal, 

That  by  a  peer  so  ancient  in  desert 
As  well  as  blood  commands  us  to  his  presence. 

Oxf.  Invites  ye,  princess,  not  commands. 

Kath.  Pray  use 

Your  own  phrase  as  you  list :  to  your  protection 
Both  I  and  mine  submit. 

Oxf.  There's  in  your  number 

A  nobleman  whom  fame  hath  bravely  spoken. 
To  him  the  king  my  master  bade  me  say 


SCEKE  ii.]          rKRKIN  WARBECK.  457 

How  willingly  he  courts  his  friendship ;  far 
From  an  enforcement,  more  than  what  in  terms 
Of  courtesy  so  great  a  prince  may  hope  for. 

Dal.  My  name  is  Dalyell. 

Oxf.  'Tis  a  name  hath  won 

Both  thanks  and  wonder  from  report,  my  lord  : 
The  court  of  England  emulates  your  merit, 
And  covets  to  embrace  you. 

Dal.  I  must  wait  on 

The  princess  in  her  fortunes. 

Oxf.  Will  you  please, 

Great  lady,  to  set  forward  ? 

Katli.  Being  driven 

By  fate,  it  were  in  vain  to  strive  with  Heaven.      \Exeunt. 


SCENE  \\.-Salisbury. 

Entfr  King  HENRY,  Earl  of  SURREY,   URSWICK,  and  a 
guard  of  Soldiers. 

K.  Hen.  The  counterfeit,  King  Perkin,  is  escaped  :— 
Escaped  !  so  let  him ;  he  is  hedged  too  fast 
Within  the  circuit  of  our  English  pale 
To  steal  out  of  our  ports,  or  leap  the  walls 
Which  guard  our  land  ;  the  seas  are  rough  and  wider 
Than  his  weak  arms  can  tug  with.     Surrey,  henceforth 
Your  king  may  reign  in  quiet ;  turmoils  past, 
Like  some  unquiet  dream,  have  rather  busied 
Our  fancy  than  affrighted  rest  of  state. 
But,  Surrey,  why,  in  articling  a  peace 
With  James  of  Scotland,  was  not  restitution 
Of  losses  which  our  subjects  did  sustain 
By  the  Scotch  inroads  questioned  ? 

Sur.  Both  demanded 

And  urged,  my  lord  ;  to  which  the  king  replied, 
In  modest  merriment,  but  smiling  earnest, 


458  PERKIN  WARE  EC K.  [ACT  v. 

How  that  our  master  Henry  was  much  abler 
To  bear  the  detriments  than  he  repay  them. 

K.  Hen.    The  young  man,  I  believe,  spake  honest  truth ; 
He  studies  to  be  wise  betimes. — Has,  Urswick, 
Sir  Rice  ap  Thomas,  and  Lord  Brook  our  steward, 
Returned  the  Western  gentlemen  full  thanks 
From  us  for  their  tried  loyalties  ? 

Urs.  They  have ; 

Which,  as  if  health  and  life  had  reigned  amongst  'em, 
With  open  hearts  they  joyfully  received. 

K.  Hen.  Young  Buckingham  is  a  fair-natured  prince, 
Lovely  in  hopes,  and  worthy  of  his  father ; 
Attended  by  an  hundred  knights  and  squires 
Of  special  name  he  tendered  humble  service, 
Which  we  must  ne'er  forget :  and  Devonshire's  wounds, 
Though  slight,  shall  find  sound  cure  in  our  respect. 

Enter  Lord  DAWBENEY  with  a  Guard,  leading  in  PERKIN 
WARBECK,  HERON,  JOHN  A- WATER,  ASTLEY,  and 
SKELTON,  chained. 

Daw.  Life  to  the  king,  and  safety  fix  his  throne ! 
I  here  present  you,  royal  sir,  a  shadow 
Of  majesty,  but  in  effect  a  substance 
Of  pity ;  a  young  man,  in  nothing  grown 
To  ripeness  but  the  ambition  of  your  mercy, — 
Perkin,  the  Christian  world's  strange  wonder. 

K.  Hen.  Dawbeney, 

We  observe  no  wonder  :  I  behold,  'tis  true, 
An  ornament  of  nature,  fine  and  polished, 
A  handsome  youth  indeed,  but  not  admire  him. 
How  came  he  to  thy  hands  ? 

Daw,  From  sanctuary 

At  Bewley,  near  Southampton ;  registered, 
With  these  few  followers,  for  persons  privileged. 

K.  Hen.  I  must  not  thank  you,  sir ;  you  were  to  blame 
T'  infringe  the  liberty  of  houses  sacred  : 
Dare  we  be  irreligious  ? 


SCENE  n.]       PP:RKIX  WARBECK.  459 

Dau>.  Gracious  lord, 

They  voluntarily  resigned  themselves 
Without  compulsion. 

A'.  Hen.  So  ?  'twas  very  well ; 

'Twas  very,  very  well. — Turn  now  thine  eyes, 
Young  man,  upon  thyself  and  thy  past  actions  ; 
What  revels  in  combustion  through  our  kingdom 
A  frenzy  of  aspiring  youth  hath  danced, 
Till,  wanting  breath,  thy  feet  of  pride  have  slipt 
To  break  thy  neck  ! 

War.  But  not  my  heart ;  my  heart 

Will  mount  till  every  drop  of  blood  be  frozen 
By  death's  perpetual  winter  :  if  the  sun 
Of  majesty  be  darkened,  let  the  sun 
Of  life  be  hid  from  me  in  an  eclipse 
Lasting  and  universal.     Sir,  remember 
There  was  a  shooting-in  of  light  when  Richmond, 
Not  aiming  at  a  crown,  retired,  and  gladly, 
For  comfort  to  the  Duke  of  Bretaine's  court. 
Richard,  who  swayed  the  sceptre,  was  reputed 
A  tyrant  then  ;  yet  then  a  dawning  glimmered 
To  some  few  wandering  remnants,  promising  day 
When  first  they  ventured  on  a  frightful  shore 
At  Milford  Haven ; — 

Daw.  Whither  speeds  his  boldness  ? 

Check  his  rude  tongue,  great  sir. 

A'.  Hen.  O,  let  him  range  : 

The  player's  on  the  stage  still,  'tis  his  part ; 
He  does  but  act. — What  followed  ? 

War.  Bosworth  Field; 

Where,  at  an  instant,  to  the  world's  amazement, 
A  morn  to  Richmond,  and  a  night  to  Richard, 
Appeared  at  once  :  the  tale  is  soon  applied ; 
Fate,  which  crowned  these  attempts  when  least  assured, 
Might  have  befriended  others  like  resolved. 

K.  Hen.  A  pretty  gallant !     Thus  your  aunt  of  Bur 
gundy, 


460  PER  KIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  v. 

Your  duchess-aunt,  informed  her  nephew  ;  so, 

The  lesson  prompted  and  well  conned,  was  moulded 

Into  familiar  dialogue,  oft  rehearsed, 

Till,  learnt  by  heart,  'tis  now  received  for  truth. 

War,  Truth,  in  her  pure  simplicity,  wants  art 
To  put  a  feigned  blush  on  :  sconi  wears  only 
Such  fashion  as  commends  to  gazers'  eyes 
Sad  ulcerated  novelty,  far  beneath 
The  sphere  of  majesty  :  in  such  a  court 
Wisdom  and  gravity  are  proper  robes, 
By  which  the  sovereign  is  best  distinguished 
From  zanies  to  his  greatness. 

K.  Hen.  Sirrah,  shift 

Your  antic  pageantry,  and  now  appear 
In  your  own  nature,  or  you'll  taste  the  danger 
Of  fooling  out  of  season. 

War.  I  expect 

No  less  than  what  severity  calls  justice, 
And  politicians  safety  ;  let  such  beg 
As  feed  on  alms :  but  if  there  can  be  mercy 
In  a  protested  enemy,  then  may  it 
Descend  to  these  poor  creatures,  whose  engagements, 
To  the  bettering  of  their  fortunes,  have  incurred 
A  loss  of  all ;  to  them  if  any  charity 
Flow  from  some  noble  orator,  in  death 
I  owe  the  fee  of  thankfulness. 

K.  Hen.  So  brave ! 

What  a  bold  knave  is  this ! — Which  of  these  rebels 
Has  been  the  Mayor  of  Cork  ? 

Daw.  This  wise  formality. — • 

Kneel  to  the  king,  ye  rascals  !  [T/iey  kneel. 

K.  Hen.  Canst  thou  hope 

A  pardon,  where  thy  guilt  is  so  apparent? 

J.  a-  Wat.  Under  your  good  favours,  as  men  are  men, 
they  may  err ;  for  I  confess,  respectively,  in  taking  great 
parts,  the  one  side  prevailing,  the  other  side  must  go 
down :  herein  the  point  is  clear,  if  the  proverb  hold,  that 


SCENE  ii.]          PERKIN  WARBECK.  461 

hanging  goes  by  destiny,  that  it  is  to  little  purpose  to 
say,  this  thing  or  that  shall  be  thus  or  thus  ;  for,  as  the 
Fates  will  have  it,  so  it  must  be ;  and  who  can  help  it  ? 

Daw.  O,  blockhead!  thou  a  privy-counsellor? 
Beg  life,  and  cry  aloud,  "  Heaven  save  King  Henry ! " 

J.  a-  Wat.  Every  man  knows  what  is  best,  as  it  hap 
pens  ;  for  my  own  part,  I  believe  it  is  true,  if  I  be  not 
deceived,  that  kings  must  be  kings  and  subjects  subjects ; 
but  which  is  which,  you  shall  pardon  me  for  that :  whether 
we  speak  or  hold  our  peace,  all  are  mortal ;  no  man 
knows  his  end. 

K.  Hen.  We  trifle  time  with  follies. 

Her.  John  a-  W.  Ast.  Skel.  Mercy,  mercy  ! 

K.  Hen.  Urswick,   command  the  dukeling  and  these 
fellows  \They  rise. 

To  Digby,  the  lieutenant  of  the  Tower : 
With  safety  let  them  be  conveyed  to  London. 
It  is  our  pleasure  no  uncivil  outrage, 
Taunts  or  abuse  be  suffered  to  their  persons ; 
They  shall  meet  fairer  law  than  they  deserve. 
Time  may  restore  their  wits,  whom  vain  ambition 
Hath  many  years  distracted. 

War.  Noble  thoughts 

Meet  freedom  in  captivity  :  the  Tower,— 
Our  childhood's  dreadful  nursery  ! 

K.  Hen.  No  more  ! 

Urs.  Come,  come,  you  shall  have  leisure  to  bethink  ye. 
[Exit  URSWICK  with  PERKIN  WARBECK  and 
his  Followers,  guarded. 

A".  Hen.  Was  ever  so  much  impudence  in  forgery? 
The  custom,  sure,  of  being  styled  a  king 
Hath  fastened  in  his  thought  that  he  is  such  ; 
But  we  shall  teach  the  lad  another  language : 
'Tis  good  we  have  him  fast. 

Daw.  The  hangman's  physic 

Will  purge  this  saucy  humour. 

K.  Hen.  Very  likely  ; 


462  PERKIN  WARBECK.  |_ACT  v- 

Yet  we  could  temper  mercy  with  extremity, 
Being  not  too  far  provoked. 

Enter  Earl  of  OXFORD,  Lady  KATHERINE  in  her  richest 
attire,  Lord  DALYELL,  JANE,  and  Attendants. 

Oxf.  Great  sir,  be  pleased, 

With  your  accustomed  grace  to  entertain 
The  Princess  Katherine  Gordon. 

K.  Hen.  Oxford,  herein 

We  must  beshrew  thy  knowledge  of  our  nature. 
A  lady  of  her  birth  and  virtues  could  not 
Have  found  us  so  unfurnished  of  good  manners 
As  not,  on  notice  given,  to  have  met  her 
Half  way  in  point  of  love. — Excuse,  fair  cousin, 
The  oversight :  O,  fie  !  you  may  not  kneel ; 
'Tis  most  unfitting  :  first,  vouchsafe  this  welcome, 
A  welcome  to  your  own ;  for  you  shall  find  us 
But  guardian  to  your  fortune  and  your  honours. 

Kath.    My    fortunes   and    mine    honours    are    weak 

champions, 

As  both  are  now  befriended,  sir :  however, 
Both  bow  before  your  clemency. 

K.  Hen.  Our  arms 

Shall  circle  them  from  malice. — A  sweet  lady  ! 
Beauty  incomparable  ! — here  lives  majesty 
At  league  with  love. 

Kath.  O,  sir,  I  have  a  husband. 

K.  Hen.  We'll  prove  your  father,  husband,  friend,  and 

servant, 

Prove  what  you  wish  to  grant  us. — Lords,  be  careful 
A  patent  presently  be  drawn  for  issuing 
A  thousand  pounds  from  our  exchequer  yearly 
During  our  cousin's  life. — Our  queen  shall  be 
Your  chief  companion,  our  own  court  your  home, 
Our  subjects  all  your  servants. 

Kath.  But  my  husband  ? 

K.  Hen.  By  all  descriptions,  you  are  noble  Dalyell, 


SCENE  in.]        PERKIN  WARBECK.  463 

Whose  generous  truth  hath  famed  a  rare  observance. 
We  thank  ye ;  'tis  a  goodness  gives  addition 
To  every  title  boasted  from  your  ancestry, 
In  all  most  worthy. 

Dal.  Worthier  than  your  praises, 

Right  princely  sir,  I  need  not  glory  in. 

K,  Hen.    Embrace   him,    lords. — Whoever   calls   you 

mistress 

Is  lifted  in  our  charge. — A  goodlier  beauty 
Mine  eyes  yet  ne'er  encountered. 

Kath.  Cruel  misery 

Of  fate !  what  rests  to  hope  for  ? 

K.  Hen.  Forward,  lords, 

To  London. — Fair,  ere  long  I  shall  present  ye 
With  a  glad  object,  peace,  and  Huntley's  blessing. 

\_Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.—  London:  The  Tower-hill. 

Enter  Constable  and  Officers,  PERKIN  WARBECK,  URS- 
WICK,  and  LAMBERT  SIMNEL  as  a  Falconer,  followed 
by  the  rabble. 

Const.  Make  room  there !  keep  off,  I  require  ye  ;  and 
none  come  within  twelve  foot  of  his  majesty's  new  stocks, 
upon  pain  of  displeasure. — Bring  forward  the  malefactors. 
—Friend,  you  must  to  this  gear,  no  remedy. — Open  the 
hole,  and  in  with  his  legs,  just  in  the  middle  hole  ;  there, 
that  hole.  [WARBECK  is  put  in  the  stocks  ^\ — Keep  off,  or 
I'll  commit  you  all  :  shall  not  a  man  in  authority  be 
obeyed  !• — So,  so,  there  ;  'tis  as  it  should  be  :  put  on  the 
padlock,  and  give  me  the  key. — Off,  I  say,  keep  off! 

Urs.   Yet,  Warbeck,  clear  thy  conscience :  thou  hast 

tasted 

King  Henry's  mercy  liberally  ;  the  law 
Has  forfeited  thy  life  ;  an  equal  jury 


464  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  v. 

Have  doomed  thee  to  the  gallows" ;  twice  most  wickedly, 
Most  desperately,  hast  thou  escaped  the  Tower, 
Inveigling  to  thy  party  with  thy  witchcraft 
Young  Edward  Earl  of  Warwick,  son  to  Clarence, 
Whose  head  must  pay  the  price  of  that  attempt ; 
Poor  gentleman,  unhappy  in  his  fate, 
And  ruined  by  thy  cunning  !  so  a  mongrel 
May  pluck  the  true  stag  down.     Yet,  yet,  confess 
Thy  parentage ;  for  yet  the  king  has  mercy. 

Sim.  You  would  be  Dick  the  Fourth  ;  very  likely  ! 
Your  pedigree  is  published ; 1  you  are  known 
For  Osbeck's  son  of  Tournay,  a  loose  runagate, 
A  landloper  ;3  your  father  was  a  Jew, 
Turned  Christian  merely  to  repair  his  miseries  : 
Where's  now  your  kingship  ? 

War.  •       Baited  to  my  death  ? 

Intolerable  cruelty  !  I  laugh  at 
The  Duke  of  Richmond's  practice  on  my  fortunes  : 
Possession  of  a  crown  ne'er  wanted  heralds. 

Sim.  You  will  not  know  who  I  am  ? 

Urs.  Lambert  Simnel, 

Your  predecessor  in  a  dangerous  uproar  ; 
But,  on  submission,  not  alone  received 
To  grace,  but  by  the  king  vouchsafed  his  service. 

Simn.  I  would  be  Earl  of  Warwick,  toiled  and  ruffled 
Against  my  master,  leaped  to  catch  the  moon, 
Vaunted  my  name  Plantagenet,  as  you  do  ; 
An  earl,  forsooth  !  whenas  in  truth  I  was, 

1  "  Thus  therefore  it  came  to  pass.     There  was  A  townsman  of 

Tournay  .  .  .  whose  name  was  John  Osbeck,  a  converted  Jew, 
married  to  Katherine  de  Faro,  whose  business  drew  him  to  live  for 
a  time  with  his  wife  at  London,  in  King  Edward  the  IVth's  days. 
During  which  time  he  had  a  son  by  her;  and  being  known  in 
court,  the  king  .  .  .  did  him  the  honour  as  to  be  godfather  to  his 
child,  and  named  him  Peter.  But  afterwards  proving  a  dainty  and 
effeminate  youth,  he  was  commonly  called  by  the  diminutive  of  his 
name,  Peter-kin  or  Perkin." — Bacon. 

2  "  He  (Perkin)  had  been   fiom   his  childhood  such  a  wanderer, 
or,  as  the  king  called  it,  such  a  landloper,  as  it  was  extreme  hard 
to  hunt  out  his  nest."- — Bacon. 


SCENE  in.]         PERKIN  WARBECK.  465 

As  you  are,  a  mere  rascal :  yet  his  majesty, 

A  prince  composed  of  sweetness, — Heaven  protect  him  !  — 

Forgave  me  all  my  villainies,  reprieved 

The  sentence  of  a  shameful  end,  admitted 

My  surety  of  obedience  to  his  service, 

And  I  am  now  his  falconer ;  live  plenteously, 

Eat  from  the  king's  purse,  and  enjoy  the  sweetness 

Of  liberty  and  favour  ;  sleep  securely  : 

And  is  not  this,  now,  better  than  to  buffet 

The  hangman's  clutches,  or  to  brave  the  cordage 

Of  a  tough  halter  which  will  break  your  neck  ? 

So,  then,  the  gallant  totters  ! — prithee,  Perkin, 

Let  my  example  lead  thee ;  be  no  longer 

A  counterfeit ;  confess,  and  hope  for  pardon. 

War.  For  pardon !  hold,  my  heart-strings,  whiles  con- 
Of  injuries,  in  scorn,  may  bid  defiance  [tempt 

To  this  base  man's  foul  language  ! — Thou  poor  vermin, 
How  dar'st  thou  creep  so  near  me  ?  thou  an  earl ! 
Why,  thou  enjoy'st  as  much  of  happiness 
As  all  the  swing  of  slight  ambition  flew  at. 
A  dunghill  was  thy  cradle.     So  a  puddle. 
By  virtue  of  the  sunbeams,  breathes  a  vapour 
T'  infect  the  purer  air,  which  drops  again 
Into  the  muddy  womb  that  first  exhaled  it. 
Bread  and  a  slavish  ease,  with  some  assurance 
From  the  base  beadle's  whip,  crowned  all  thy  hopes  : 
But,  sirrah,  ran  there  in  thy  veins  one  drop 
Of  such  a  royal  blood  as  flows  in  mine, 
Thou  wouldst  not  change  condition,  to  be  second 
In  England's  state,  without  the  crown  itself. 
Coarse  creatures  are  incapable  of  excel lencc  : 
But  let  the  world,  as  all  to  whom  I  am 
This  day  a  spectacle,  to  time  deliver, 
And  by  tradition  fix  posterity 
Without  another  chronicle  than  truth, 
How  constantly  my  resolution  suffered 
A  martyrdom  of  majesty. 

Kord-  H   H 


466  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  v. 

Sir/in.  He's  past 

Recovery  ;  a  Bedlam  cannot  cure  him. 

Urs.  Away,  inform  the  king  of  his  behaviour. 

Simn.  Perkin,  bev/are  the  rope  !  the  hangman's  coming. 

[£x& 

Urs.  If  yet  thou  hast  no  pity  of  thy  body, 
Pity  thy  soul ! 

Enter  Lady  KATHERINE,  JANE,  Lord  DALYELL,  and 
Earl  of  OXFORD. 

Jane.  Dear  lady ! 

Oxf.  Whither  will  ye, 

Without  respect  of  shame  ? 

Kath.  Forbear  me,  sir, 

And  trouble  not  the  current  of  my  duty. — 
O,  my  loved  lord  !  can  any  scorn  be  yours 
In  which  I  have  no  interest — Some  kind  hand 
Lend  me  assistance,  that  I  may  partake 
The  infliction  of  this  penance. — My  life's  dearest, 
Forgive  me  ;  I  have  stayed  too  long  from  tendering 
Attendance  on  reproach  ;  yet  bid  me  welcome. 

War.  Great  miracle  oY  constancy  !  my  miseries 
Were  never  bankrupt  of  their  confidence 
In  worst  afflictions,  till  this  ;  now  I  feel  them. 
Report  and  thy  deserts,  thou  best  of  creatures, 
Might  to  eternity  have  stood  a  pattern 
For  every  virtuous  wife  without  this  conquest. 
Thou  hast  outdone  belief ;  yet  may  their  ruin 
.  In  after-marriages  be  never  pitied, 
To  whom  thy  story  shall  appear  a  fable  ! 
Why  wouldst  thou  prove  so  much  unkind  to  greatness 
To  glorify  thy  vows  by  such  a  servitude  ? 
I  cannot  weep  ;  but  trust  me,  dear,  my  heart 
Is  liberal  of  passion. — Harry  Richmond, 
A  woman's  faith  hath  robbed  thy  fame  of  triumph 

Oxf.  Sirrah,  leave-off  your  juggling,  and  tie  up 
The  devil  that  ranges  in  your  tongue. 


SCKNK  in.]        PERKIN  WARBECK.  467 

Urs.  Thus  witches, 

Possessed,  even  to  their  deaths  deluded,  say 
They  have  been  wolves  and  dogs,  and  sailed  in  egg-shells 
Over  the  sea,  and  rid  on  fiery  dragons, 
Passed  in  the  air  more  than  a  thousand  miles, 
All  in  a  night : — the  enemy  of  mankind 
Is  powerful,  but  false,  and  falsehood  confident. 

Oxf.  Remember,  lady,  who  you  are  ;  come  from 
That  impudent  impostor. 

Kath.  You  abuse  us: 

For  when  the  holy  churchman  joined  our  hands, 
Our  vows  were  real  then  ;  the  ceremony 
Was  not  in  apparition,  but  in  act. — 
Be  what  these  people  term  thee,  I  am  certain 
Thou  art  my  husband,  no  divorce  in  Heaven 
Has  been  sued-out  between  us  ;  'tis  injustice 
For  any  earthly  power  to  divide  us  : 
Or  we  will  live  or  let  us  die  together. 
There  is  a  cruel  mercy. 

War.  Spite  of  tyranny 

We  reign  in  our  affections,  blessed  woman  ! 
Read  in  my  destiny  the  wreck  of  honour  ; 
Point  out,  in  my  contempt  of  death,  to  memory 
Some  miserable  happiness ;  since  herein, 
Even  when  I  fell,  I  stood  enthroned  a  monarch 
Of  one  chaste  wife's  troth  pure  and  uncorrupted. 
Fair  angel  of  perfection,  immortality 
Shall  raise  thy  name  up  to  an  adoration, 
Court  every  rich  opinion  of  true  merit, 
And  saint  it  in  the  calendar  of  Virtue, 
When  I  am  turned  into  the  self-same  dust 
Of  which  1  was  first  formed. 

Oxf.  The  lord  ambassador, 

Huntley,  your  father,  madam,  should  he  look  on 
Your  strange  subjection  in  a  gaze  so  public, 
Would  blush  on  your  behalf,  and  wish  his  country 
Unleft  for  entertainment  to  such  sorrow. 


468  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  v. 

Kath.  Why  art  thou  angry,  Oxford  ?  I  must  be 
More  peremptory  in  my  duty. — Sir, 
Impute  it  not  unto  immodesty 
That  I  presume  to  press  you  to  a  legacy 
Before  we  part  for  ever. 

War.  Let  it  be,  then, 

My  heart,  the  rich  remains  of  all  my  fortunes.       , 

Kath.  Confirm  it  with  a  kiss,  pray. 

War.  O,  with  that 

I  wish  to  breathe  my  last !  upon  thy  lips, 
Those  equal  twins  of  comeliness,  I  seal 
The  testament  of  honourable  vows  :  \Kisses  her. 

Whoever  be  that  man  that  shall  unkiss 
This  sacred  print  next,  may  he  prove  more  thrifty 
In  this  world's  just  applause,  not  more  desertful ! 

Kath.  By  this  sweet  pledge  of  both  our  souls,  I  swear 
To  die  a  faithful  widow  to  thy  bed ; 
Not  to  be  forced  or  won  :  O,  never,  never  ! 

Enter  Earls  of  SURREY,  HUNTLEY,  and  CRAWFORD,  and 
Lord  DAWBENEY. 

Daw.  Free  the  condemned  person  ;  quickly  free  him  ! 
What  has  he  yet  confessed  ? 

[PERKIN  WARBECK  is  taken  out  of  the  stocks. 

Urs.  Nothing  to  purpose ; 

But  still  he  will  be  king. 

Sur.  Prepare  your  journey 

To  a  new  kingdom,  then,  unhappy  madman,. 
Wilfully  foolish  ! — See,  my  lord  ambassador, 
Your  lady  daughter  will  not  leave  the  counterfeit 
In  this  disgrace  of  fate. 

Hunt.  I  never  pointed 

Thy  marriage,  girl ;  but  yet,  being  married, 
Enjoy  thy  duty  to  a  husband  freely. 
The  griefs  are  mine.     I  glory  in  thy  constancy ; 
And  must  not  say  I  wished  that  I  had  missed 
Some  partage  in  these  trials  of  a  patience. 

Kath.  You  will  forgive  me,  noble  sir  ? 


S<  KXE  in.]         PERKfX  U'A  RBECK:.  469 

Hunt.  Yes,  yes  ; 

In  every  duty  of  a  wife  and 'daughter 
I  dare  not  disavow  thee.     To  your  husband, — 
For  such  you  are,  sir, — I  impart  a  farewell 
( )f  manly  pity  ;  what  your  life  has  passed  through, 
The  dangers  of  your  end  will  make  apparent ; 
And  I  can  add,  for  comfort  to  your  sufferance, 
No  cordial,  but  the  wonder  of  your  frailty, 
Which  keeps  so  firm  a  station.     We  are  parted. 

War.  We  are.     A  crown  of  .peace  renew  thy  age, 
-Most  honourable  Huntley  ! — Worthy  Crawford  ! 
We  may  embrace;  I  never  thought  thee  injury. 

Craw.  Nor  was  I  ever  guilty  of  neglect 
Which  might  procure  such  thought.    I  take  my  leave,  sir. 

War.  To  you,  Lord  Dalyell, — what  ?  accept  a  sigh, 
'Tis  hearty  and  in  earnest. 

Dal.  I  want  utterance  ; 

My  silence  is  my  farewell. 

Kath.  O,  O ! 

Jane.  Sweet  madam, 

What  do  you  mean  ? — My  lord,  your  hand.    [To  DALYELL. 

Dal.  Dear  lady, 

Be  pleased  that  I  may  wait  ye  to  your  lodging.1 

[Exeunt  Lord  DALYELL  and  JANE,  supporting 
Lady  KATHERINE. 

1  Gifford  quotes  the  following  passage  concerning  her  subsequent 
history  from  Sir  R.  Goidon  :  "  Shoe  wes  biought  from  St. 
Michael's  Mount  in  Cornuall,  ane  delyvered  to  King  Henrie  the 
Seaventh,  who  intertayned  her  honorablie,  and  for  her  better 
mantenance,  according  to  her  birth  and  vertue,  did  a-signe  vnto  her 
good  lands  and  rents  for  all  the  dayes  of  her  lyff.  After  the  death 
of  her  husband  Richard,  shoe  mareid  Sir  Mathie  Cradock  (a  man 
of  great  power  at  that  tynie  in  Clamorganshyre  in  Wales),  of  the 
which  manage  is  descended  th's  William  Earle  of  Pembroke,  by 
Ins  grandmother,  and  had  some  lands  by  inheritance  from  the 
Cradockes.  Lady  Katheren  Gordon  died  in  Wales,  and  was  buried 
in  a  chappell  at  one  of  the  Earle  of  Pembrok  his  dwelling-places  in 
that  cuntrey.  The  Englesh  histories  doe  much  commend  her  for 
her  beauty,  comliness,  and  chastetie."  And  Bacon  ends  her  story 
thus  :  "  The  name  of  the  White  Rose,  which  had  been  given  to 
lur  husband's  false  title,  was  continued  in  common  speech  to  her 
tiue  beauty." 


4;o  PERKIN  WARBECK.  [ACT  v. 

Enter  Sheriff  and  Officers  with  SKELTON,  ASTLEY,  HERON, 
and  JOHN  A- WATER,  with  halters  about  their  necks. 

Qxf.  Look  ye  ;  behold  your  followers,  appointed 
To  wait  on  ye  in  death  ! 

War.  Why,  peers  of  England, 

We'll  lead  'em  on  courageously  :  I  read 
A  triumph  over  tyranny  upon 
Their  several  foreheads. — Faint  not  in  the  moment 
Of  victory  !  our  ends,  and  Warwick's  head, 
Innocent  Warwick's  head,' — for  we  are  prologue 
But  to  his  tragedy, — conclude  the  wonder 
Of  Henry's  fears  ;  and  then  the  glorious  race 
Of  fourteen  kings,  Plantagenets,  determines 
In  this  last  issue  male  ;  Heaven  be  obeyed  ! 
Impoverish  time  of  its  amazement,  friends, 
And  we  will  prove  as  trusty  in  our  payments 
As  prodigal  to  nature  in  our  debts. 
Death  ?  pish  !  'tis  but  a  sound ;  a  name  of  air  ; 
A  minute's  storm,  or  not  so  much  :  to  tumble 
From  bed  to  bed,  be  massacred  alive 
By  some  physicians,  for  a  month  or  two, 
In  hope  of  freedom  from  a  fever's  torments, 
Might  stagger  manhood  ;  here  the  pain  is  past 
Ere  sensibly  'tis  felt.     Be  men  of  spirit ! 
Spurn  coward  passion  !  so  illustrious  mention 
Shall  blaze  our  names,  and  style  us  kings  o'er  Death. 

Daw.  Away,  impostor  beyond  precedent ! 

[Exeunt  Sheriff  and  Officers  with  the  Prisoners. 
No  chronicle  records  his  fellow. 

Hunt.  I  have 

Not  thoughts  left :  'tis  sufficient  in  such  cases 
Just  laws  ought  to  proceed. 

Enter  King  HENRY,  the  Bishop  of  DURHAM,  and 

HlALAS. 

K.  Hen.  We  are  resolved. 


jpKNE  in.]        PERKIN  WAR  BECK. 


47 * 


Your  business,  noble  lords,  shall  find  success 
Such  as  your  king  imp6rtunes. 

Hunt.  You  are  gracious. 

K.  Hen.   Perkin,  we  are  informed,  is  armed  to  die  ; 
In  that  we'll  honour  him.     Our  lords  shall  follow 
To  see  the  execution  ;  and  from  hence 
We  gather  this  fit  use,1 — that  public  states, 
As  our  particular  bodies,  taste  most  good 
In  health  when  purged  of  corrupted  blood.  [Exeunt. 


HERE  has  appeared,  though  in  a  several  fashion, 
The  threats  of  majesty,  the  strength  of  passion, 
Hopes  of  an  empire,  change  of  fortunes ;  all 
What  can  to  theatres  of  greatness  fall, 
Proving  their  weak  foundations.    Who  will  please, 
Amongst  such  several  sights,  to  censure  these 
No  births  abortive,  nor  a  bastard  brood, — 
Shame  to  a  parentage  or  fosterhood, — 
May  warrant  by  their  loves  all  just  excuses, 
And  often  find  a  welcome  to  the  Muses. 

1  The  poet  seems  to  apply  this  word  in  the  puritanical  sense  (then 
sufficiently  familiar)  of  doctrinal  or  practical  deduction. — Gifford. 


I'Kl.MhU    BY    J.    S.    VIRTUE    AND    CO.,    UMlltD,    CITi     ROAD,    LONDON. 


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